


hear the birds on the summer breeze

by lazy_universes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Loss, Sex, like there's angst here like you wouldn't believe, potential trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-08-25 17:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16665481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_universes/pseuds/lazy_universes
Summary: “Jesse,” she asked, and her voice was as dry as the wind that carried the sand away from where they were, staring at each other as if on a stand off. She felt it, then, when something shifted, when the theatrics were carried away by the breeze, and suddenly it was no longer Ashe and McCree - they were two young kids, trying to carve a home in the wild wild west of the world. Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled. “What do you want?”“Why, Liz,” he said softly, and took a step closer that felt as if he had crossed an ocean of distance. His voice was hoarse, but he was soft as the breeze. “I came here for you.”Or: A tale of getting lost, getting hurt, and finding love in between.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> "you cant write a full fic of angst, that just wouldn't work" 
> 
> *cracks knuckles* well watch me

_I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy_

_I'm tired of driving 'til I see stars in my eyes_

_It's all I've got to keep myself sane, baby_

_So I just ride, I just ride_

 

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_I’ll leave on my own. I have a dream, I have a destiny, and if I crash my car and ruin my entire face while I get out of here, it’s still fine. Outside the wheel, mounted on my own madness. Immobile silly pathetic crazy lonely poisonous. Post everything, you know? Super dark, super modern, pure simulacrum. Give me my jacket, boy, because it’s fucking cold outside and when this time of the evening comes the spell is broken. I become yet again that which I am everyday, closed alone lost in my room, away from the wheel and from everything - a scared child._

__\- CFA, Dama da Noite_ _

 

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_2076_

Late at night, when B.O.B was already off and all the other gang members were already fast asleep, she’d pull out her tarot deck and shuffle the cards lazily, absently. She prefered if they were illuminated by the moon, only the smell of dust, desert lavender and sweetbushes as company - she would pull a single card from the deck and look at it intently, trying to foresee the next day. If it was a gift or mere coincidence she couldn’t say, but she was right more often than not - there was something soothing about thumbing the frayed cards and finding a message hidden within the drawings that gave her some unforeseen clarity.

The day before McCree showed up, the card she drew was none other than the broken tower.

 

 

“We could get him, boss,” Terran insisted. “We could run after him-”

“Terran, won’t you shut the fuck up?” Ashe spit, angrily rubbing her sore wrists rubbed raw from the rope McCree had used to bind them together. He was good at knots, that much she remembered - it had been more than a decade, but apparently some things weren’t lost to time. Ashe kicked the cart she was trapped to less than an hour before. The cargo was good, alright, but the mess definitely brought the attention of the authorities, and whatever funcion the glowing blue Omnic McCree went to rescue had, it was sure enough to get a lot of money in itself.

She hated losing money. She especially hated losing money to McCree - a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time and welcomed back as an old friend.

“McCree activated whatever that was, and it is long gone now,” Bars commented from where he sat. Crates littered the small storage room they were in, full of useless garbage - the real gold was amongst the smoldering ruins of the train she blew up. She knew as much, but didn’t say anything, opting for placing B.O.B’s head back on his torso.

“I don’t care,” she said, clipped. B.O.B’s eyes whirred to life, soft neon pastel green. She sighed in relief. “What _I_ care is that this _one_ asshole bust our entire business. And I don’t like that. That’s money and reputation we lose. You there, B.O.B?”

The Omnic whirred softly, nodding. She patted him on the shoulder.

“What I also care is that he took my bike,” she said, turning back to where the triplets sat, licking their own wounded prides, “And now I have no bike. You know how pissed that makes me?”

“Very pissed,” Bar said, absently.

“ _Exactly,_ ” she said, “That’s why Bar gets a larger share of the loot than you lot.”

“That ain’t fair,” Zeke said, sniffing. “It ain’t our fault he ruined your deal.”

“It’s your fault for being born stupid,” she spit, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Go salvage what can be saved and come back here. I need a goddamned _bike_.”

“I still think we should go after him,” Terran said, candidly ignoring everything she had said prior, “Then we can find out where the blue lady woman was-”

His argument was cut short by Ashe throwing a broken crate on his general direction.

 

 

Grand Canyon wasn’t the only of its kind in Arizona, albeit the largest - which was good for her, since she neither wanted to share the solitude of the desert with bumbling tourists nor she felt like breaking into a national park just for the sake of some peace and quiet. Far enough away from civilization so the Milky Way could make its appearance, Ashe laid down on the rough dirt floor and looked at the stars, counting them even though she knew it was futile. She needed something to occupy her mind, something other than-

Jesse McCree.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. It had been _years_ \- fifteen, to be exact. Pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pockets, she drew one lazily and let it hang from her lips, staining the white paper burgundy with her lipstick while she patted her jacket for a lighter.

It had been so long, and yet she could remember him vividly - despite his absent arm, the years had been kind to him. The crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes, cigar hanging from his full lips, the sun kissed skin; McCree was a cowboy hollywood fever dream. She used to call him Clint Eastwood, to which he’d answer “I ain’t happy, I’m feeling glad” without skipping a beat. Those were times long gone, but he was still the only person who kept her on her toes.

Ashe sighed, lighting her cigarette and letting the smoke poison her lungs. They’d meet every once in a while, try to kill each other, then disappear for years on end. She never knew what he was up to, and their encounters usually ended with him vanishing in thin air - he was _good_ , the motherfucker. Blackwatch taught him tricks she couldn’t hope to master.

And yet.

Inhale, exhale, repeat. She tasted the nicotine on her tongue, feeling it calming her erratic heart. It’d been years. What was she afraid of?

“I thought you’d quit that, Ashe.”

She bolted upright in a single fluid motion, picking Viper from its harness to see McCree himself leaning on her bike, a smirk on his lips.

“Jesus fucking-”

“Watch your language, Ash’,” he said, lightening his own cigar. It cast lights on his face, the shadows playing amongst the dips and crooks of his cheekbones. “Ain’t very Christian of you to use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“You’ll use His name in vain when I’m shoving the Viper right up your ass,” she spit. The wind blew softly, carrying dust and rolling small stones from where inertia had grounded them. She eyed his nose, the hazel eyes, and felt her spine shiver. “What do you want?”

“Well, what would it be? Give your bike back, of course,” he patted on the seat. “I just had some errands to run and thought I could use a favor or two. Runs smooth like butter-”

“Jesse,” she asked, and her voice was as dry as the wind that carried the sand away from where they were, staring at each other as if on a stand off. She felt it, then, when something shifted, when the theatrics were carried away by the breeze, and suddenly it was no longer Ashe and McCree - they were two young kids, trying to carve a home in the wild wild west of the world. Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled. “What do you want?”

How many questions rounded each vowel she pronounced? She couldn’t tell. But McCree put down his cigar, crushing with the heel of his boot, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. When he looked at her, she felt as if she was undressed to the very marrow of her bones under his attentive gaze.

“Why, Liz,” he said softly, and took a step closer that felt as if he had crossed an ocean of distance. His voice was hoarse, but he was soft as the breeze. “I came here for you.”

 

 

 

_2059_

B.O.B whirred softly in the background, beeping incessantly. She knew what it meant, but had not a single cell in her body willing to deal with it.

“B.O.B, if it is from Mother, delete it,” Ashe said, not bothering to take her eyes away from the spreadsheets in front of her. There was something about printing the balance books that made it better to check for mistakes - McCree used to say she was the accounting dictator. If it meant they knew how money they had and how to best spend it, sure; she’d be a dictator alright as long as they had food on the table and money to spend.

The omnic beeped, and she rolled her eyes.

“I don’t care how many times she has called, B.O.B,” She snarked, “There’s absolutely nothing she can say to me that would be more interesting than keeping the books.”

“Maybe you should pick up,” said a voice to her right - she didn’t need to raise her eyes to know it was McCree, sprawling on the couch next to her. “I mean, how many times have it been now? Thirty?”

“Thirty-seven and counting,” Ashe rolled her eyes, running her hands through her hair and twisting it into a messy bun. “I don’t know why she insists. I’m not gonna talk to her anyhow.”

“You know,” he said, lazily. He always spoke slowly, as if convincing her that time wasn’t a scarce resource. Hoarsely, quietly; McCree was never loud and rarely, if ever, lost his temper. She figured it was a good match for a partner in crime - she was a gunpowder barrel ready to explode first thing in the morning. “Many people in the world would die to have a mother that would call every other day.”

“You want mine? Take it. Discount price, no returns,” She clicked her tongue in annoyance.  The numbers in the spreadsheets swayed in front of her eyes, and she sighed, leaning back into the couch. McCree offered her his smoke - she took it.

“Now, I never said that,” he said, grinning, “I just meant count your blessings.”

“Count your curses, you mean,” she snarked. The smoke in her throat tasted weird. “Weed?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. She rolled her eyes, but let her head fall back on the couch, looking at the mold-stained high concrete ceiling of the hideout.

“Should’ve warned me. Got a balance to check.”

“You can do that later, Missus White Rabbit,” he said. “Come on, talk to me. Why does your Mother want to talk to you so bad?”

“Bites me,” she said.

“Oh, you wanna play this game now?” He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. He had thick brown tresses, falling in perfect waves around his face. “Way I see it, this afternoon could go two different ways. Either you keep lyin’ and I keep naggin’ you for the truth until you snap and try to punch me, and then we won’t talk for as long as it takes for your anger to wear off, or you quit the bullshit and let me help you.”

“How do you know I need help, pray tell?”

“You’ve got the face,” he said, leaning over and reaching for her chin. He raised an eyebrow and smoothed the tight lines on her forehead with a thumb. “The face where somethin’ is bothering you but you don’t wanna say it. Then you get snappy, and then you get near homicidal, so in all truth, I’m just here doin’ God’s honest work and some damage control. Want another hit?”

She scoffed, but took the joint anyhow. They were in silence, then - the sun shone hard on the desert outside the warehouse, but the wind carried the smell of the desert lavenders she made a point to grow in the backyard. She’d keep a small branch of dried flowers under her pillow to help her sleep, more out of habit than out of effectiveness - she’d wake up several times at night, the same dream keeping her from resting. She’d be up in a tower, and she’d be pushed off the edge and would fall down, down, down-

“Promise me you won’t laugh.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he said, smirking.

“She thinks I’ve eloped,” she said, finally. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. If you laugh I swear I will cut off your dick.”

“I ain’t laughing, Ash,” he said, but the shadow of a smile curled the edges of his lips anyhow. She couldn’t tell if it was because of the absurdity of her mother’s shenanigans or just how he was wired. “Wonder why, tho. It’s not like you went ridin’ into the sunset with a criminal-”

“It wasn’t like _that-_ ”

“Held tight to my waist and all,” McCree laughed. “Can’t fault the old woman for thinkin’ you went off to live a great love story.”

“If you’re my knight in shining armor I’m fucked six ways to Sunday,” she rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ that,” he shrugged. “But you gotta give it to her, there is somethin’ very Bonnie and Clyde about how you left home.”

He was right, but she’d never admit it. Ashe had stole all of the money on one of her family’s bank account, transferred stocks to her name, got all the gold and jewelry in the house and spit on her mother’s face before hopping on McCree’s bike and setting off, never to come back - hopefully. It was an early sunday morning in July, the heat was scorching, and halfway through being out of Texas she realized she hadn’t put sunscreen on and needed something to cover her sensitive skin.

Walking into a convenience store in the middle of the desert to buy a sunhat and sunscreen while running away from home was so bizarre she sat down under a shadow and laughed so hard she cried. McCree sat next to her and offered a lukewarm Bud Light, and it had felt like the best drink she’d ever had in her life.

“It’s still ridiculous,” she said. “What does she know? Before I ran away, she didn’t even know the name of the college I was attending.”

“That’s true,” He sighed. The joint went out - he fished a lighter from his pocket. “How do you know that, though?”

“Know what?”

“That she thinks you’ve eloped?”

She paused, worrying her lower lip.

“The first time she called I picked up,” she said, quietly. “She was very intent in giving me a piece of her mind, I’ll say.”

“Oh?” McCree said. “What did she say?”

 _Many things,_ she thought. It hurt just to think about it, just to remember her mother’s strident voice boring holes in her eardrums and stabbing the heart she wished would just grow cold already. She always thought her mother couldn’t get lower, but Ava made it her personal quest to be as hideous as a human being as possible.

“Ash?” He insisted.

“I’m _trying,_ McCree,” she snarked. The words were boiling in her chest and seemed to die on her tongue, as if they were dying on the beach after swimming the entire ocean. She felt the skin of her cheeks heating in shame.

“Take your time,” he said. She took a shaky, deep breath. The lavender bushes swayed with the wind, begging her to calm down.

“She said,” Ashe cleared her throat, “It was fitting. That I ran away with a criminal. Because no good person would ever love someone like me. Then she said she was ashamed of calling me a daughter, to which I said I was surprised she ever called me like that to begin with-”

“Oh _wow,_ ” McCree whistled. “Yeah, no, I got the gist, thank you. Jesus. Your mother is somethin’ else.”

“A bitch,” Ashe shrugged. “Say it, it’s true. Ava Clementine Ashe is a bitch.”

“Ava Clementine Ashe is the biggest bitch to have ever walked this green earth,” McCree said, and she grinned. “Lord’s word.”

“Amen,” Ashe said.

 

Sometimes, when they were resting at a gas station in a long forgotten city before heading out to the next target, Ashe would absently look at the corkwood panels hanging by convenience stores, full of washed out pictures of missing people. There were always many of them, some missing during the war, some more recently. She couldn’t tell what she was looking for - her own face, perhaps? - but she could never find it. She’d go through the names - Avery, 6 years; Minako, 45 years; Jonathan, 22 years, the list was endless, ever growing. So many people went missing as if they had been swallowed by the earth. Not her, no - whatever it was her absence meant for those who knew her, it didn’t warrant a sign.

Ashe sighed, tracing Avery’s round face with the tips of her fingers. Round cheeks, blonde hair, the picture faded out by exposure to the sun. To be loved meant to be missed, and Ashe never really knew what that was supposed to mean. People came and went, she figured.

“You ready, Ash?” McCree would ask.

“Sure,” she’d answer, giving Avery’s face one last forlorn look before turning on her heels and walking away.

  


Their target: a warehouse used by the omnic forces during in the war and was left mostly abandoned ever since. Rumor had it there was an omnic guard that still surrounded the area, patrolling what used to be a relevant military asset; but the place was claimed only by nature and filled with omnic tech they could get a good money for.

“It’s just a rumor,” McCree had said, waving her concerns away confidently. “This is the desert, Ash. No one lingers here, they’re all goin’ somewhere.Why would they stay when the war’s over?.”

As it was, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

There wasn’t just _one_ omnic - there were several, from tanks to traps and little turrets, and Ash barely had time to pull off her gun before McCree dived in to push her out of the line of fire. She tried to shoot, but found her weapon jammed so hard she couldn’t snap it back to its place.

So this was the outcome: sitting in the hideout, cleaning blood off of McCree’s stupid face and trying not to think what else could’ve happened if the shot had been more than merely a graze. Her fingers shook softly.

“Don’t be so nervous, Ash,” McCree said, hoarsely, slurring from the same vodka Ashe used both as an antiseptic and as anesthesia. “We got a lot of loot-”

“Shut the fuck up,” she said, clipped. Her fingers trembled as she threaded floss through a needle sharp enough to break skin, and she looked at the gaping wound on his arm. What wouldn’t she give for a hospital, or even someone with slightly more training than Girl Scout’s first aid courses taken years prior. If she had to point it out, this was the moment where it really dawned on her what would it be to live a life on the run - sitting on a bathroom, covered in blood and sewing someone else’s arm shut with floss. “This is gonna hurt.”

“I got shot,” McCree pointed out, taking another swig of the bottle. Cheap stuff, too - not like the good alcohol her parents kept at home. She figured, however, it was as good as they would get, and since they had a while to go before they could sell whatever it was they scored and money was tight, it wasn’t like they could afford to pay for some doctor’s silence. So.

“And?”

“I dunno ‘bout you, Ash, but I feel like whatever it is you’re doing down there, it’s gonna hurt less than bullets.”

“Sure thing,” she said, absently, but unbuckled her belt and handed it over to him anyways. “Might wanna keep that one around.”

“Not gonna need,” he said, surely, and she scoffed, inhaling deeply before setting herself to work. Her fingers trembled, but she took sewing classes when she was a kid and McCree taught her how to slaughter a pig, so she figured she had what it took to solve it. She had to.

As she set to work, diligently ignoring McCree’s whispered _shits_ and _motherfuckers_ , she stopped to wonder how her life had come to be like this. She could’ve been in a loveless marriage with someone she could barely stand by then, living a life filled with all the luxury and pleasure money could buy. Her family was not only rich, they were powerful, and also dying to get rid of her. She could get any man in the United States under her heel if she wanted to. And yet here she was, covered in soot and blood listening to a high school dropout curse about the floss stitches she was giving him. He didn’t need that many, thankfully, and she steadied her hands by placing her elbows on her knees as she crouched inside the tub to get a closer look.

She didn’t need to be there. But if she was honest about it, there was really no other place she wanted to be other than in a bathroom in a shady roadside motel, patching her best friend in the world.

Aside from B.O.B, of course. But B.O.B couldn’t talk, so Ashe thought it was only fair she’d choose McCree.

“Watcha’ thinkin’?” McCree slurred. Half the bottle was gone already.

“Hm?”

“You got the thinkin’ face,” he said, leaning back on the tub as she tied the last stitch together. “I like hearin’ what you think. When you’re not yellin’, I guess.”

“I don’t yell,” she protested.

“And I ain’t drunk,” he winked. “Come on. What’s on your mind, Missus White Rabbit?”

 _Many things,_ she thought to herself, taking off the latex gloves she was wearing. Most importantly, that she could kill him altogether for placing himself on harm’s way, but she couldn’t say this. He eyed her, expectantly, and she took a deep breath.

“Why do you call me that?” she asked, pouring vodka on a towel and wiping his arm clean of the blood. He was very quiet then, as if pondering what should his answer be.

“You know that Alice book?” He asked, “The Wonderland shit?”

“Well yes, I went to school at some point,” she said, wryly.

“ _Sour_ ,” he said, and hissed when she put alcohol on his wound as retaliation. “There’s this one rabbit who’s always late, and he’s always in a hurry-”

“Oh _God,”_ she said, indignantly.

“And the white hair,” he smirked. “And you just look like a lil’ rabbit, I guess. Always hoppin’ around-”

“McCree, I swear to _God-_ ”

“Call me Jesse,” he said, hoarsely. She froze in her spot, unable to move until she heard a sharp hiss and realized she had left the alcohol-soaked towel for far too long on his arm.

“Oh, _shit,_ sorry,” she said, and bit her lip.  “Why’s that?”

“We’ve known each other for a year now, I guess it’s time,” he said, shrugging with his one good shoulder.

She didn’t know how to answer that, so she didn’t, choosing instead to pull out the bandages to wrap around his arm. They were in silence, then. She cut the gauze carefully, thinking about what he’d just said - she had considered him a friend, but never expected a blatant display of friendship. In fact, if she were to be honest, she never had any such things, and at school her colleagues would either go by Ashe or Calamity. Point was, she never had a friend, in the true definition of the term. The experience was new and the feeling was odd. She felt around the edges of her heart, wondering what to say.

“I mean, you could make that our secret,” he winked, “You _can_ call me Jesse, which is more than most people can say for themselves. I’ll know whatever comes after is definitely gon’ be somethin’ very serious. And I’ll take it seriously, scout’s honor”

She swallowed, looking at her work. He’d have to work on keeping it clean and disinfected, but he wouldn’t lose his arm yet, and that was enough. She leaned back on the tub, eyeing him warily.

“Liz,” she said.

“Hm?”

“If I can call you Jesse,” she shrugged, “You might as well call me Liz.”

He eyed her, vision blurry, but when he smiled it was as if his entire body lit up in anticipation and a sheer joy she never thought herself capable of feeling. He reached for his pocket - found a rogue cigarette and placed it on his lips before digging deeper and pulling a gun out of a hidden holster.

“Found this one today,” he said, placing it on her lap. It was heavy, intricately decorated and old, by the look of it. She took it on her hands, weighting it, testing how well the grip fit.

It was perfect.

She eyed him, a question dancing around her irises.

“Heard yours got jammed in the fight,” he said, leaning his head back to the tiled wall of the bathroom and patting his pockets for a lighter. “Was gonna keep it to myself, but I can’t have you walkin’ around without a gun now, can I?”

“I suppose you cannot,” she said, quietly.

“That I can’t,” he nodded. “Quick as one of those black mambo snakes, that one. Tried it out today too. Very well made, zero recoil.”

“Thank you, Jesse,” she said, unable to say anything else.

“Don’t go thankin’ me,” he shook his head. “You know somethin’, Liz,” he took another swig of the bottle, and when he looked at her his eyes were pure fire, blazing, incendiary, “Pretty bunny like you walkin’ right into a nest of vipers, gotta need a viper of your own to have your back.”

 

 

There was a high black tower, and she was dangling off the edge, looking up. Her mother stared her down cooly, arms crossed over her chest. It was cold, freezing, and the sky around them was charged with electricity as lightning and hail tore down the earth below - she felt her grip slipping, sliding-

“Mama,” she cried out, tears streaming down her face, “Mama, please, help me-”

Her mother did nothing, and one by one her fingers slipped off the edge and she fell down, down, _down-_

 

 

She woke up startled, gasping for air.

Outside the windows, rain poured down the Arizona desert, the smell of earth and rain capturing her attention. She put a hand over her heart, feeling it beat erratically, and looked at the old-fashioned digital clock by her bed - 4:42.

Ashe sighed, letting herself fall down back on her pillows. The hideout was in an old warehouse, one they’ve renovated to the best of their abilities but still demanded a lot of work. The building creaked, sighed, whined - she was never bothered by it, except when she was. This was definitely one of those occasions.

She gave up on sleeping and fished an oversized old shirt from a pile in the corner. They’d have to go to the city soon to get laundry done, but as it was, it was more than enough - she slid her makeshift door open and padded silently through the large hallway, barefoot and barely making a noise. The moon shone in between the cracks of the ceiling, casting lights and shadows as she made her way silently out of the warehouse. Full in the sky, round and mysterious.

A mystery she couldn’t solve: why was there a guitar in the cargo they stole. Not that she was complaining, because she wasn’t - it’d been years since she put her hands on one, and it wasn’t high quality enough that it’d be worth selling. She slid the stockroom open, making her way around the loot until she found it.

“Well,” she said, gripping it by the neck. “Here goes nothing.”

The parts she loved the most about the warehouse were the big ceiling-to-floor windows facing the garden. Of course, that saved a hell of lot of  money during the day, but at night, with rain pouring down the old glass and the smell of desert lavender and wet dirt capturing her just so, it seemed short of a gate to some other magical place. She sat down in front of it, placing the guitar delicately on her lap and tweaking the tuning heads while humming the notes absently.

Her parents didn’t like her affinity for music. Granted, her parents didn’t like anything about her, but her music was one they particularly detested, for reasons she could never understand. If anything, however, it was their fault for forcing her to take piano classes - they had an old white grand piano in their living room, the most high-class Texan atrocity she could’ve ever imagined, and thought it was proper for a young girl to know enough to impress the guests.

Not to impress too much, it seemed. What begun as a begrudging chore became something she loved, and she began to take her liberties with it - which was, in hindsight, when they developed a problem about it. She could never really understand why, but she moved on to other instruments regardless, specially those she could play as far away from her parents as she could. She tried flute, cello, bass and violin, but her worn guitar was still the thing she missed the most from her old house.

As she dwelled on the memories of her youth, she was vaguely aware the guitar on her lap was as tuned as it would ever be - which meant not really that tuned, but that’s what she had for the day. She started fiddling around with the strings, testing, humming vague songs and melodies under her breath. The rain got heavier, the lavender stalks shaking under the thunderstorm, but she carried on, blissfully calm-

A hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her head so fast she was sure she’d get whiplash.

“Wow!” She shrieked, falling to her elbows. The guitar slid slowly down her belly to the floor, and she looked up to glare at who had actively tried to kill her of fright.

McCree eyed her from where he stood, grinning mischievously.

“What the fuck, dude?” She wheezed, pulling herself up again. “Trying to kill me?”

“Nah, couldn’t sleep,” he said, pointing at his arm. She felt a pang of guilt and concern, wondering if she could go and find some good painkillers in the morning. “Thought I’d walk around a bit, see if I could catch my z’s somewhere else. Then I found you. Didn’t know you played guitar.”

“Well, won’t you look at that,” she said, dryly, fingers hovering over the strings without any real courage to do anything.

“Don't tell me you're ashamed now,” he said, flopping down by her side, back to the glass. She could see it all - sitting facing the window, she saw the rain, the moon, the lavenders and him, and something gripped get heart tightly inside her chest. She tapped the tips of her fingers on the worn out word of the guitar.

“I'm not,” she said, shrugging. “I just never played to anyone, I guess.”

“Not even B.O.B?”

“Well, except for B.O.B,” she admitted. “But it wasn't like he could tell me what he thought. Or even if he would, if he could.”

“You have a point there,” McCree said. “Still. You have no reason to be ashamed.”

 _Don't I_ ? She thought, swallowing. There were small things inside of her, small frail thoughts she made a point not to think about. But when he looked at her like that, like what she said mattered, like what she _felt_ mattered-

She didn't know how to feel about it, and felt the unsaid pressing against her throat, shutting it tight. Ashe looked down at the guitar and said nothing, but pressed her fingers on the strings, slowly remembering how, when and where to find the right places to press.

“ _Love of my life, you're hurt me,”_ she muttered under her breath. “ _You've broken my heart and now you leave me-”_

It was easy, she felt; deep in the marrow of her bones she felt for the first time in her life how easy it would be to trust someone with the softest parts of herself. She could feel his eyes boring holes into her, eyeing her intently, warmly, with so much fire she could feel herself burning, sparks flying inside her stomach.

“You're good,” he said, quietly. She bit her lower lip, pondering, feeling as if the wrong move could shatter the delicate moment that had set around them. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Gotta have some use in this life,” she grinned. “You thought I was just a pretty face?”

“I'd never,” he said. As years went on, she'd never forget how she felt when they locked eyes with him at that moment, as the rain raged outside their little bubble and he eyed her with something she couldn’t describe, but tugged at her from inside, tight and hot and complex and all things she couldn't explain; and when he grinned at her, all danger and promise, she'd always remember that was the first moment where she first realized - Jesse McCree had her wrapped around his little finger.

 

 

Corpses can usually disappear within a few days if left to the elements in the Arizona desert. 

She knew this more as a curiosity than as a necessary skill in her line of work. Usually a body left in the desert would mummify, the sun and the dry air stripping it of its humidity and preserving the flesh - when it came to places with as many scavengers as Arizona, however, a corpse could be gone in a matter of days. Even after the vultures picked the bones clean, ants could carry them away bit by bit, until there was nothing left of a person in the world but their absence, if that was ever felt in the first place. 

Ashe wouldn’t like to admit it, but she thought about that more often than not. 

As they threaded through the desert, marking the best spot for explosives to intercept a military cargo train, she thought about disappearing off the face of the earth, going where no one could find her. That’d be the true freedom, she thought, absently, as McCree placed another X mark on the ground, snapping a picture of it to show to the triplets later as they debriefed their next target. The sun was hidden behind heavy monsoon clouds, in that pregnant pause right before a thunderstorm. 

Her bike was out in the open, she thought, gloomy, looking at the dark clouds shielding the sunset on the horizon. It was gonna rain on  _ her bike- _

“What’s with the face?” McCree asked, standing up from where he was crouched down. 

“It’s gonna rain,” she pointed the skyline with her chin.

“It’s August, of course it is,” he said simply. 

“Well yeah, but not only it’s gonna rain and we’re in the middle of fucking  _ nowhere _ , I left my bike in that Diner and it’s gonna rain all over it.”

“Afraid of a little rain, Ashe?” He grinned, and she rolled her eyes, punching his good shoulder. 

“Do you  _ like _ being wet and sticky, McCree? Actually,” she added when she saw the mischievous grin on his face. “Don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.” 

“Why, I never took you for a prude,” he teased, winking. “Did they teach you about the birds and the bees back at your Catholic boarding school?”

“It wasn’t catholic,” she grunted. “And  _ yes _ . What they didn’t teach me I researched on my- McCree, really? Are you five?” 

Despite her clear annoyance, he still had it in him to snicker like a horny teenager. He wiped his brow with a bandana, pulling up a map from his pocket. 

“Only one more to go and then we’re done,” he said, pocketing it once more and smirking at her. “I’d say I’m sorry but truth is, I ain’t. Teasing you is too much fun to let it pass.”

“Ha fucking  _ ha,  _ cowboy,” she rolled her eyes once more. “The more sex jokes you make, the less competent your dick is.”

“That ain’t a thing,” he said, frowning, and she raised her hands in mock-surrender. 

“I don’t make the rules,” she said, grinning. As they tread through the desert gravel, lightning cut through the sky. She counted, hands in her pockets - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and the sound of thunder roared above them as a beast. 

“Five to ten miles away,” she said, “Is getting closer.” 

“Let’s try to make it quick then,” McCree said, pulling a cigar from this pocket as he threaded through the dirt. When he found the perfect spot, he crouched down, pulling his pocket knife out and carving the ground. 

Ashe looked around, bored. It was a necessary evil to take someone with you during reconnaissance, but hell if it wasn’t dull. She stepped away from his immediate vicinity, threading through the tall bushes, the cacti and the desert flowers absently. Sometimes the desert smelled good, sometimes it smelled like death, and as she walked around and felt rather than smelt the pungent decomposition smell, she just shrugged it off as yet another dead fox or what not. 

_ Bodies left to the elements in the Arizona desert can disappear within a few days _ , she thought, absently. It would be so easy, then - becoming one with the world, each piece of her scattered around in the wind, truly free. She wondered if she could ask McCree not to bury her if she died, just leave her hidden in a grove. He’d have to take care not to be taken in as a murderer, though. If he got caught, that is - the son of a bitch was a slimy motherfucker and could get away with-

Behind a large rock, a small pale foot peeked through the desert flowers. 

Ashe felt her vision tunnel, focusing on that one small limb. The stench of decomposition hit her hard as breeze blew her hair away from her face - she took one shaky step towards it, and another, and a drop of water hit her cheek, but she kept dragging her feet closer and closer until she glanced past the hard stone to see- 

A small body, crouched in itself, face down. The ashy skin was pale, purple green blue and black marks all over, and she took one shaky hand to turn it around-

A gaping, torn mouth greeted her like an old friend, perpetually trapped in one final cry for help. 

And Ashe  _ screamed _ . 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, i'm sorry

_Well I have brittle bones it seems_   
_I bite my tongue and torch my dreams_   
_Have a little voice to speak with_ _  
And a mind of thoughts and secrecy_

 

 

There was a high black tower, and she was dangling off the edge, looking up. Her mother stared her down cooly, arms crossed over her chest. The monsoon weather raged on, thunder and lightning wrecking the clouds around them - she tried to grip tighter on the slippery stone, but felt her muscles giving out on her.

“Mama,” she pleaded, “Mama, please, help me-”

Her mother took a step closer and kneeled down to where she was - then suddenly it wasn’t her mother, but a decayed corpse of a child, it’s torn blackened mouth and milky, clouded eyes staring at her emptily. Its decaying hands wrapped around her wrists, and she felt a wave of relief and disgust wash over her, until-

“You have to remember,” the child said, and the voice was her own; she barely had time to register it when it pushed her off the edge and she fell down, down, _down-_

  


 

_“Police officers have found the body of six-year-old Avery Mallory after an anonymous call yesterday near the city of Roosevelt, Arizona,_ ” the news anchor said from the holovid, looking solemn. _“The little girl, a Tucson native, had been missing since February of last year. Officers are looking now for clues of her stepfather, Ian Montgomery, who went missing around the same time as his stepdaughter but has not been found as of yet. Any citizens with further information should contact-”_

McCree shut the holovid, dropping by her side on the couch. Ashe said nothing, merely taking another swig at her nearly-empty Jack Daniels bottle. Her skin was raw and sore from how many showers she took, trying to wash away the stench of death in her nostrils, but it was for nothing. She could still feel it in her palms, her hair, the tips of her fingers, and decided she might as well get drunk and unaware in order to get some sleep.

“Okay, I’ve had it,” McCree said, sternly. “This ain’t the first time you’ve seen a corpse. Hell, you might’ve even made some yourself. What’s with the face?”

“Have you considered that maybe I just don’t wanna talk about it?” she said, hoarsely. He stared at her and blinked slowly, as if trying to comprehend whatever it was she had just said.

“Maybe,” he said. “I’m still waiting, tho.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” she groaned, letting a long-suffering sigh and dropping her head back on the couch backrest. She just wanted to _not_ talk about misery for five minutes, and yet everything went back to finding Avery on the ground, dead as the stones around her, days away from going missing from planet earth entirely. She shivered, taking another swig of the bottle and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“It was a child,” she said, quietly.

“Well, yes,” McCree said. “But you’ve seen that one before too. What’s so different?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’ve been seeing her all around the state, you know? Missing child posters and shit. Whoever her mother was, she really wanted to get her back. And now I found her body, and she won’t.”

“Are you feeling guilty for finding her?”

“Maybe,” she said, sheepishly. Truth was she couldn’t tell what exactly she was feeling - she was never good at naming the angry waves crashing inside her chest. Maybe it was guilt, indeed. Or maybe it was something dark and twisted lurking just beneath the surface, something she had ignored for as long as she could remember and now it pressed back, demanding. She pressed her lips tightly.

“Okay, two things,” he raised a finger. “First, you didn’t kill the girl. You just found her, which makes you a good person if anythin’. Two,” he raised another finger, “You _found_ her. You gave her mother closure.”

“ _Closure?”_ Ashe scoffed, twirling the bottle around her fingers. “She had a living daughter and now she has a dead daughter. I don’t know how much closure that can be.”

“Liz,” McCree said, and gave a long suffering sigh, as if the very conversation was painful to him. “Sometimes, you’re really fuckin’ dumb, did you know?”

Ashe stared at him, dumbfounded, as her brain processed the insult and slowly filled her body with indignation.

“Excuse _you,_ mister _I don’t think formal education is necessary but Ashe please do my math for me,_ ” she snarked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I could take that as an insult, but I won’t, because you just proved my point,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “You’re really intelligent, Liz. But you’re real dumb too. You see,” he said, interrupting her when she tried to protest, “You’re looking at it as if you findin’ Avery or not finding Avery would’ve changed anythin’. But _you_ don’t control reality. She was dead before you came, she would be dead even if you didn’t, and now instead of a missin’ dead daughter, her mother has a dead daughter in a proper grave. _This_ is the point, and _this_ is what I’m tryin’ to get through your thick head,” he rolled his eyes. “Would you rather not know where someone is and be forever waitin’ on them to come back, or would you like to know where they are buried, to know that they’re gone? The hope keeps you from mourning the missing. So this is why what you’ve done matters so much.”

She paused, considering. She remembered Avery’s empty eyes gazing upon her from the top of the tower, milky and unfocused. _“You have to remember”_ , she’d said, but remember what? She felt something on the back of her neck, a fear that raised the hairs of her nape, as if someone was watching her. She didn’t know what it meant. But when she looked at McCree’s expectant eyes, she felt as if there was a thread sewing her lips shut, some unspoken fear of telling him _why_ she was so afraid- of what? She couldn’t tell either. So she shrugged and nodded, looking down to the bottle on her lap.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “It’s been a long week. With you getting hurt and this-”

“Sure,” he said, fishing the bottle from her hands and taking a sip himself. “Stress, I guess. Sleep is good.”

“Sure,” she answered, absently, thinking on what awaited her at nights.

  
  


 

She had only been able to convince herself to lay down on her bed early in the morning, and had barely closed her eyes when she heard a squeaking noise and movement coming from the common room. 

Ashe had always been a light sleeper, and it served her well when it came to keep watch of the gang. She felt herself freeze in bed, fingers itching for the viper hidden under her bed. 

“B.O.B,” she whispered, softly, nudging the omnic sitting diligently by her side. “B.O.B, can you get a visual?” 

He quirked his head to the side but obliged, activating the cameras she had made a point to install around the house, and silently indicated there was nothing amiss. Heart drumming inside her chest, she fell back to the bed, sighing. Must’ve been one of the boys going to take a leak. She really should’ve considered some sleeping pills-

She was halfway towards getting back on trying to sleep when she heard the first moan. 

Ashe raised an eyebrow. She was the only woman in a gang full of guys, she wasn’t a stranger to them having sex. Still, that was a very loud moan, and they’ve always been discreet - she wondered what on  _ earth _ was happening, slowly getting up and tip-toeing to the door. Or, the piece of fabric covering the open space where a door should be. She figured they didn’t need doors anyhow, it wasn’t like anyone would be stupid enough to-

Ashe regretted that line of thought instantly when she peeked from behind the fabric to see Terran getting head from a very blonde, very naked woman on the couch. 

“Holy-  _ shit-”  _ She wheezed, rolling away from the door until she found herself laying on the floor, biting her lips to keep herself from giggling. Her cheeks burned in secondhand embarrassment, but she couldn’t keep herself from laughing at the most  _ bizarre _ scene she had seen in her whole  _ life _ -

“Oh yeah, baby,” Terran said, loudly and slightly slurred. Drunk. Figures. “Suck me harder. You know you love this cock, don’t you? Tell me how big it is-” 

Ashe shoved her knuckles inside her mouth and bit on them, hard, to keep herself from screaming in hysterical laughter. 

Oh Jesus. Oh  _ Jesus- _

Her phone lit up from where it was laying on the bed - she picked it with trembling fingers, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep herself from laughing. 

 

mccree _ : are u hearing this  _

mccree _ : is this what i think it is _

 

Ashe couldn’t keep herself from snorting, but it’s quiet enough - she frantically texts back. 

 

Ashe _ : dude, it’s terran  _

Ashe _ : he is getting head in the living room right in front of my door  _

_ Ashe: my eyes will never recover _

mccree _ : oh shit i am so sorry you had to see this  _

mccree _ : but i’m kinda happy it wasn’t me _

mccree _ : thanks for taking that one for the team  _

 

Ashe smiled. Asshole. 

 

_ ashe: assfuck _

_ mccree: no really hearing it is bad enough  _

_ mccree: who is the girl _

 

Ashe honestly didn’t know, and sent him an emoji of a woman shrugging in lieu of an answer. The moans got louder, more insistent - she had half a mind to cover her head with a pillow to stop her already delicate sanity from being damaged any longer. If there was one thing she did not need nor had any motive to know, it was how Terran’s penis was like. 

B.O.B whirred softly from where he sat, slowly standing up to full attention. He took soft steps towards the door, as if trying to block it. . 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “This is just blackmail.” Her phone lit once more. 

This time, she actually giggled - it was a picture of McCree hiding under his covers, a look of pure horror in his face. 

 

mccree:  _ is this how parents feel when they hear their kids having sex _

 

As if on cue, the woman started answering to Terran’s stupid attempts at dirty talk. 

“Tell me how much you love my dick,” he said. There were steps inching closer to her room and she knew it was McCree before he squeezed through the fabric and carefully stepped next to her, hands on his waist. 

“What the fuck,” he mouthed. 

“Bites me,” she answered, smile plastered on her face. 

“I fucking love your dick,” the woman answered, and McCree and Ashe snorted like two teenagers, “I’m so fucking crazy for your  _ dong-” _

Ashe knew it was over as soon as the words hit them - the two of them exchanged one look and then all caution was thrown to the wind as they both howled in laughter in the room.

  
  


“You keep knocking on that hard _ wood _ , Terran,” McCree said, cracking a can of beer open and passing it over to Ashe. “Make sure it stays…  _ erect.” _

“Jesus Christ, McCree, could you be more childish,” she said, but there was no bite to it - Terran was the one fucking a hooker in the middle of their living room, and if he didn’t want to be teased, that was just his fucking luck. 

“I just want to make sure he has a  _ head  _ start,” McCree winks at her, cradling his own beer and leaning back into his chair, sun kissing his tanned face and the shoulders bared by the wifebeater he had on. “And a quick  _ finish. _ ” 

“Oh shit,” Ashe snorted. They were sitting outside as Terran did his best to install the doors around the warehouse - one for every room. It was either that or Ashe was going to pay for it with his loot money, and he wasn’t too keen on parting ways with it - but there would be doors in the house as long as she was called Ashe. She had enough unwilling voyeurism for a lifetime, thank you kindly. 

She leaned back on her chair, pulling her own serape around her shoulders to shield her arms from the sun. Even though she had a nice sun umbrella to cover her up, there were still some pesky sun rays hitting her delicate skin. 

“No, please,” McCree said. “Cover yourself up a little more. Wanna go inside and pick up a leather jacket? Maybe some snow boots?”

“Ha ha, cowboy,” she rolled her eyes. “I  _ should _ be inside anyhow, but seeing Terran suffer is too good an opportunity to pass”. She tipped her chin to where Terran was struggling with the wood plaques that would make up the doors, snickering. 

“Aw, come on,” McCree laughed. “Just a little sun, Ashe. God knows you need it.”

“I can’t,” she said, dryly. “Have you ever heard of melanin?” 

“Of course,” he winked. “It’s that little substance that makes you hot when you stay under the sun.”

“Wow, McCree, you are so hilarious today,” She rolled her eyes once more. “No, it’s that simple thing that protects from the sun. Being an albino means I don’t have any, so I just  _ can’t _ . I’ll get burned if i do.” 

“Oh, so that’s why you’re so white?” McCree said, taking another sip of his beer. “Man, I thought it was just the colonizer genes.” 

“Wow, I think I just ruptured my spleen with how good that joke was,” she said, face blank. “Good job, Clint Eastwood.” 

“I ain’t happy, I’m feeling glad,” McCree hummed absently. “Can I ask something stupid?”

“Would it matter if I told you no?” 

“Atta girl,” he smirked. “Can white people even be albino?” 

“I mean, I am, so I guess,” she shrugged. “Albinism is a mutation. Besides, there’s more to albinism than being white. When you’re just white, it means your body doesn’t produce as much melanin as a brown or black person, for instance, which gives a few advantages in environments with little sunlight but it’s a hell of a lot worse everywhere else. I just don’t  _ have _ any melanin. So I’m prone to burns and skin cancer. Also my eyesight is shit/20.” 

“The fuck,” McCree said, “How do you aim so well?” 

“I had them replaced,” she said, absently. The surgery to replace her natural eyes with her prosthetics was gruesome, the worst recovery she ever went through in her life. Aiming was part of the rehabilitation for her eyes - she just had a natural gift for it. McCree eyed her, expression dropping from his face, and she raised one eyebrow in questioning.

“Damn,” he said, leaning back, “Must be real good be rich, huh? Hey, Terran!” He called, “Do you think this wood is hard enough?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, McCree,” she said, feeling something weird pooling in her belly. 

  
  


Her room was what one might’ve been an office or what not - while the boys had makeshift wooden walls and haphazardly laid bricks to separate them, Ashe got the one with proper drywall insulation and ceiling. That was as much luxury as it’d get. She had a mattress on the floor, a few boxes by the opposite wall with all her belongings, and a place where B.O.B would sit at nights, right in front of the door - or whatever she had in its place. But now there it was, a new shiny wooden door to call her own. 

She eyed it, warily. There was something grabbing her stomach tightly at the sight of a door, of all things. Why? Why was she so worked up about it?

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” McCree said, leaning on the doorframe. She opened and closed the wooden panel slowly, hearing the soft creak - the noise brought shivers to her spine, and B.O.B’s eyes glimmered under the pale artificial light of her room. 

“I have a door,” she said, absently. 

“Damn, those eyes you bought gave you some real insight,” he laughed. “Can you buy observation powers too?” 

“Can you be less of an asshole about this, McCree?” She asked, annoyed. “Really, it’s no big deal.” 

“Ashe, baby girl,” he said, shaking his head. “It is a big deal. You might think it’s normal to go and have your eyes replaced and what not, but it’s not. Us normal folks can’t afford that sort of shit.” 

“I don’t think it’s normal,” she said, staring at him. McCree had never been a jerk about her past - she had no idea why he was being one now. 

“It ain’t, that’s what I’m saying,” he shrugged. “Terran made a good job. What do you think? Not as close as your  _ old  _ room, but-”

“Jesse,” she said, breathlessly. “Why the fuck are you being a jerk to me?” 

He paused, eyeing her face. She knew she looked a bit insane - head piled so high up her head she looked like a unicorn, septum piercing askew on her nose, and a deep crease on her forehead. But then he blinked - and sighed, rubbing his eyes. 

“My ma went blind, you know,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know what exactly, but as she got older her sight was gettin’ shittier and, you know. One day she woke up and bam, gone. Blind. And I still hear-” He closed his eyes, as if the memory was too painful to recall, “When she woke up and went completely blind, I swear her screaming woke the dead. She couldn’t bear it, and she died. But it didn’t have to be like-”

“I’m sorry,” Ashe said, at loss for words. 

“I know it’s not on you,” he said, rubbing his face.”But I just feel like- real fucking  _ angry _ , you know? That the solution was there, I just couldn’t- you know. And sometimes you complain about your old folks-” 

“I have my reasons,” she said, dryly. 

“I bet you do,” he rolled his eyes. “But like, you complain about them and I just keep thinking that they saved you, they saved your life, they gave you everything you needed-”

“McCree,” Ashe said, cutting him short. Her eyes spaced out, lacking focus - a deep feeling of dread and despair tightening her stomach and forcing all of the beer she drank up, nearly coming up her esophagus and out of her mouth. She heaved, wheezed - took a step back and eyed him warily. “I need you to leave.”

“What the hell,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously worked up about it?” 

“You don’t know anything about me,” she hissed, gripping her midsection tightly. The memories of her childhood were few and in between, but she could remember this feeling - feeling hopeless, afraid, desperate. She inhaled shakily. “Get out.”

“Ashe-”

“ _ Get out! _ ” She yelled, slamming the door on his face. The building shook with her strength, and she let her body fall on the mattress, weak and limp as if drained from all of her energy. 

“What is happening to me,” she whispered to herself, hugging her own knees as if to make herself feel small. 

  
  


She lay awake in her bed, and the door creaked open, silently. 

She blinked, and suddenly she was no longer in her room - it was her childhood room, the pink and frilly one she hated, and she was small in her huge bed, so small, so tiny-

The door creaked once more. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see it, a massive dark shadow, towering over her small frame-

“Hello, Elizabeth,” it said, and she sat up on her bed, as if still trapped in a dream, as if the shadow could still get her, and it didn’t matter - she stood up. 

And she ran. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me so long because GRADUATION, but now dobby is a free elf 
> 
> edit: updated with marginally less mistakes (thank you noxie)


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "are you updating in a reasonable time?? are you drunk??" yes
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: child abuse, violence, general mindfuckery, you've been warned

_Remember the fire_

_Remember the balloons_

_Remember the moonlight on the backlands_

_The clothes on the hanging rope, a national holiday_

_And the stars scattered amongst the songs_

_Remember when every song would talk about love_

_Because I never sang again, little sister,_

_After he came_

  
  


She would remember pieces of her past as one one would find old photos in an attic - as if she would find parts of herself hidden around the house. They would be tucked behind the fridge, hidden above a shelf, shoved in between the sofa cushions. She’d be about her business and something in her mind would click, as if a movie was suddenly starting in her head, but the files were badly corrupted. There were sounds, voices, smells, but the feelings were terrible, the absolute worst, and they would root her in place, feet stuck to the ground and body refusing to move.

Lot’s wife looked back and was turned into a pillar of salt. So it goes.

Ashe would kiss her own feverish skin after every nightmare to taste the salt coating all of her body. The price one paid for looking back. Isabelle was already long gone, punishment served for daring to be witness to the unspeakable sentence served by vengeful god.

She would be next.

  


They sat on a dirty diner by a highway - the place was falling apart, grease stains on the acrylic top of the tables. There was foam poking out of their seats, and Ashe bet if she touched the underside of their table, she’d find decades’ worth of bubble gum history. The mere thought gave her shivers, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest in disgust.

In front of her, the other founders of the Deadlock Gang devoured their own food as if there was nothing amiss - she couldn’t find it in her to eat in normal circumstances on the last few days, let alone down whatever fresh hell-spawn their alleged burgers were. Her stomach twisted at the mere image, and she averted her eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re being prissy about this, Ashe,” Cormac said. He was tall, fat, and had big rings on every fingers, but his face was nice and he had a surprisingly light-hearted sense of humor. If life had turned out differently, Cormac would’ve been a good school principal, or at least someone good with kids; he had five girls of his own, and they absolutely adored him, as did his wife Jenna. She wondered what happened in people’s lives to turn good hearts into bandits or outlaws.

She wondered what happened to her, too.

“Caught a stomach bug or something,” she sniffed. “Haven’t been feeling well for the past week. But it’s fine.”

“You know, my Jenna gets real sick too when she has one of them babies,” Cormac winked. “Sure you’re not a momma?”

“Only if God picked me to be the next Virgin Mary,” she snickered. “Besides, I’d be shit with kids anyhow. Let’s not even go there.”

“Come on,” Emmett said, cleaning his long fingers on a napkin. He was tall, tan, and wore his long black hair in low ponytail by his nape. His eyes were dark, and she could never guess what he was feeling, and that was comforting, in a way - she’d only have his words to trust. “You telling me you never dealt with kids? Do ya’ have siblings?”

A flash of bright blonde hair, pale blue eyes, fingertips on her lips telling her to shush, that everything would be alright-

Ashe swallowed.

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat, “Yeah, I had a sister. But we were about the same age, so-”

“Had?” Cormac asked, holding down a burp.

“She’s gone,” she said, dryly. Silence sat at the table as an old friend, and Emmett shifted uncomfortably in his place - McCree, however, eyed her with eyes wide from where he was sitting, more occupied with devouring his burger than paying attention to the conversation up until that very moment.

“I’m real sorry, Ashe,” Cormac said, gravely. “I know how hard that is. Lost a few siblings myself-”

“You had a sister?” McCree asked, mouth full of half-chewed food hanging open. It was disgusting, and she rolled her eyes. Things had been tense between them ever since they argued about Ashe’s family, and she hadn’t made an effort to cross that bridge - mostly because she didn’t _want_ to talk about it. Her family was a sore spot, and McCree twisted the knife deeply. She wouldn’t apologize for feeling upset.

“I think we’ve established the things you don’t know about me could fill a library, McCree,” she said, dryly.

“Okay, little birds,” Emmett said. “We didn’t meet to talk family, we met to talk business. I called y’all here because I got a _good_ lead of a good heist. It’ll be dangerous, but it’ll be more than enough for the four of us. If we manage to pull it of,” he whistled, leaning back on his seat. “My friends, we will be set for _life_.”

“You mean rich?” Cormac asked.

“Not only,” Emmett said, offering them a rare smile - one that wasn’t happy at all. “We will be _legendary_.”

“What do you mean, Em?” she asked.

“It’s in Vegas,” he said, crossing his arms. “Apparently there will be a UFC match there in July, but _this_ is a match the Underground is betting real money on. So all of the security forces will be focused on the actual _city_ , since it’s where the big fish will be waiting to be caught, but no one will pay attention to the weapons storage just outside of Vegas…”

“And we can strike when they least expect,” McCree said, eyes shining. A waitress came over to give him a second round of his whiskey - he tipped his hat, eyeing her as she walked away. “Emmett, my man, this is _genius._ ”

“But how do we know the feds will be focused on the actual game?”

“I got contacts, old friend,” Emmet winked. “They guarantee it’s a safe bet. I’d say, we set a plan, test the waters, set off for Vegas and see if it will work out. If not, we just enjoy a well-deserved day off in the City of Sin. What do you say?”

“I’m in,” McCree said, immediately. “That sounds good enough for me.”

“If you’re so sure, Emmett, I’m with ya’, sly dog,” Cormac said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. They all eyed Ashe, then, who bit her lower lip. She wished she had more time to sit on things when they decided on heists like this. But at three-to-one, it didn’t matter what she had to say about it - she sighed.

“Let’s do it, then,” she said, and they cheered - McCree raised his cup for a toast, and a small piece of paper fell from under it.

“What the-” he picked it up, reading it, and giving them all his dirtiest, slyest smile. “Guess that waitress had more to give me than just my drink, I’d say.”

“Lemme see that,” Ashe said, picking the paper up - in scribbled, messy handwriting, a note as clear as day:

_Natalie - 602-555-0106 - Would love 2 hear from u :)_

The three man cheered loudly, clapping on his shoulder and offering him drinks - but Ashe felt as if there was cotton in her ears, as if the whole world was a radio station getting out of tune.

  
  


There was a high black tower, and she was dangling off the edge, looking up. Her mother stared her down cooly, arms crossed over her chest. The monsoon weather felt suffocating, thick and hot as syrup inside her burning lungs, the wind was merciless, and her fingers tried their hardest to grip tightly to the slippery stone.

“Mama,” she pleaded, “Mama, please, mama _please_ -”

Her mother took a step closer and kneeled - then suddenly it wasn’t her mother, but a decayed corpse of a child, its light blond hair ashy and pale blue eyes clouded. She crouched down near where she was, and Ashe felt her own body smaller, tiny, as if she too was a child.

“Isabelle,” she pleaded, “Isabelle, _please-”_

From behind the decaying corpse of her sister, a large shadow appeared.

Ashe knew what it was.

Or, even worse - Ashe knew _who_ it was.

“Isabelle,” she screamed, “Isabelle, _watch out-_ ”

Isabelle gripped her wrists tightly, decaying flesh melting with the sheer strength of her grip.

“You have to remember,” she said, but the voice was her own; her mouth was still open in shock as she fell down, down, _down-_

  


She woke up with the scream halfway through her throat, and slapped her hand on her mouth to keep herself from raising the dead.

Her breathing was erratic, and the sweat made her shirt stick uncomfortably to her skin - she jumped out of the bed, stumbling, and B.O.B whirred softly from his place.

“I’m just gonna get water,” she wheezed, bursting the door open. On her way out, she picked a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and set out to the lavender garden to sit on her own.

The moon was high in the sky, full, round and filled with secrets. She eyed it warily, feeling the cold light hit on her skin. She looked as if she was made out of bones - it had been weeks since she last had a full meal. She leaned back on the dirt floor, cigarette in hand, and took a drag as she watched the stars.

The moon didn't let her see much. But she knew where the constellations were, could map her with her fingers if needed be - they were her guides in lonely nights, endless rides through desert rides cloaked by the dark. Isles of certainty in her ocean of doubts.

She took another drag, closing her eyes. Sleep had been a nightmare in itself - she wondered if they could bust a drugstore so she could get the good prescription sleeping pills-

The back door creaked, and she cracked one eye open to see McCree tiptoeing inside the house, a huge lipstick stain on his neck and a giggling waitress by his arm, and Ashe just wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

  


“You sure you need all of this?”

“Last time you got shot we didn’t have the good painkillers,” she said, dryly, as she shoved boxes and boxes of pills into a large bag. McCree was by the door, guarding the perimeter, and the only light she had was the moonlight flooding through the drugstore’s windows. “And if I don’t get some good sleeping pills, I will fuck me up a bitch. Look at it as if we’re stocking.”

“Natalie could get us those, you know,” he said, absently. “Her roomate works at a drugstore in-”

“How lovely for Natalie,” she said, clipped. She didn’t know _why_ , but the mere mention of her name turned her mood sour.

“We wouldn’t have to do _this_ , that’s what I’m sayin’,” McCree continues, the sarcasm in her voice lost on him. “We already steal enough, don’t you think?”

She eyed him as if a second head just spurted from his heck, and put the bag over her shoulder.

“You’re going crazy, cowboy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I wanna grab some dinner before we head home.”

“Ah,” he said, scratching the back of his head as they sneaked through the backdoor. “See, I promised Natalie I’d meet up with her today-”

“And you having a date means I don’t get hungry, McCree?” She gave him a cold stare. “You go fuck whoever you want, I want a goddamn cheeseburger.”

“Damn, you are salty,” he said. She shoved the stolen medication inside her backpack, not wanting to look him in the eyes. “Maybe you are the one who should ditch the cheeseburger and go fuck someone-”

“Go fuck yourself, McCree,” She spit, anger rising like bile in her throat. Humiliation tinged her cheeks red - she had never felt so insulted and so belittled, as if her anger had no meaning or place to be, as if she was in the wrong for daring to be upset about his callousness. She stood up, ready to push him away and punch that smirk off his face-

Behind him, smoking in an alley, a familiar face she met once upon a dream.

Ashe squinted, trying to remember where she saw him before. The pink tinge of a white skin that spent too long in the sun, the thick blond beard-

“McCree,” she whispered, “That’s Ian.”

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow, looking back, “Who’s Ian?”

“Avery’s stepfather,” she answered, “The police has been looking for him-”

“Oh, the dead girl,” he said, “Ashe, I don’t think you should meddle with this any longer-”

It was for nothing - he was halfway through his sentence and she was halfway through the distance between herself and Ian, long steps cutting the space short-

“Hey there, miss,” he said, voice thick and hoarse. He smelled of alcohol and there was white powder all over his mustache and nose. _Cocaine_. She shivered, steeling herself. “Can I interest you in a drink?”

“You,” She said to him, eyeing him up close, “I found your stepdaughter.”

His face fell - his cheeks got even more red, and he averted his eyes, trying to step away from her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, raising his hands. “I don’t have any-”

“What do you mean you don’t have an-” It downed on her, then. As she stood in the middle of a small forgotten town in the deep end of Arizona, as the summer warmth glued her clothes to her skin, as McCree hissed behind her and grabbed her elbow to pull her away from the man, it suddenly made sense.

She wondered why Avery seemed so scared - if it was only death that scared the life away from her bones. But it wasn’t.

It was betrayal.

“You killed her,” she whispered. The scene stopped, all three of them freezing as even the breeze stopped in its tracks, as she uttered the words she could never take back - the truth hung heavily on their shoulders, and Ian took a step back.

“This- This is not-” He stammered, “Avery was- she was the one who-”

“You gross motherfucker, she was a _kid,_ ” McCree said behind her, disgusted, but she barely heard it - cotton in her ears, a buzzing inside her head, Isabelle’s quiet cries for help, fingers on her lips, the darkness under the bed, the pain, the shame, the _fear-_

Ian’s face morphed into something she couldn’t identify, but one she could recognize-

 _Hello, Elizabeth_.

She barely felt as her fist connected to his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards; the second and the third punch were out of her before she could even realize Ian was on the ground and she was charging on his face, madly, a frenzy taking over her body as she punched and punched and punched and _punched-_

“Ashe. _Ashe_ !” McCree pulled her back by the shoulders - she was strong, yes, but McCree was larger, and easily pulled her away from the bloody pulp Ian’s face had become. “Ashe, quit it, come on, _come on_ -”

She eyed him, eyes open wide and wildly, taking in her surroundings. The quiet city didn’t seem all that disturbed with the sudden outburst of violence - if anything, people pretended there was nothing amiss. Ian groaned from the ground, and she reigned in a wish to kick him for good measure.

“We gotta go, baby girl,” he whispered, pulling her by the hand. “I’ll call the cops and let them know he’s here, but we gotta go, and we gotta go _now-”_

She let herself be pulled away from the alley, but looked back to see Ian’s body laying on the ground - she blinked, and it was Isabelle’s small frame, bloody and pale and _small_ , long golden hair scattered around the concrete pavement, and she felt the scream climbing up her throat and-

She blinked, and it was Ian once more, and she never felt more like a pillar of salt.

  
  


McCree ditched her at home and went to meet Natalie.

She sat on the couch, trying to convince herself to stand and shower, get Ian’s blood from under her fingernails, but couldn’t - some unknown force rooting her to the worn out couch. She couldn’t stand, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t make a sound as her mind kept playing the bits and fragments of memories she had in her mind, like a broken record she had no way of throwing out or even stopping-

Ian’s body on the ground, Isabelle’s tear streaked cheeks, her mother’s screams, the sound of doors knocking, Avery’s body on the dirt floor, her open mouth perpetually trapped in a scream and the pain and the fear and the door creaking and she had to hide she had to get Isabelle she had to hide because he’d come into her room at any time now-

At any time now-

At any time-

At any-

“Ashe!”

McCree’s yell brought her out of her stupor - she eyed him, reeking of sex and alcohol, tousled hair and worry and anger in his eyes, and outside the sun decided to peek from behind the horizon line. Her spine ached from sitting for too long, and the caked blood on her fingers itched - it was as if she was slowly returning to her body, as if her soul had been taken to somewhere where it could only remember eternally the things her body fought hard to forget.

“Have you been sittin’ here the whole time?” He asked, voice hoarse. There was a streak of angry red marks along his arms, and she swallowed, nodding.

“Goddamnit, Ashe,” he said, running his hands through his hair in annoyance. She cringed, curling into herself. “You’ve been actin’ all prissy and it’s been _weeks-_ ”

“You are the one who suddenly has a problem with me being rich,” She croaked. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t have a problem with you bein’ rich, I have a problem with you bein’ fucking entitled!” He snarked, kicking the opposite end of the couch. Ashe’s body shook with the impact, and she grabbed on the headrest for balance, eyes wide open, “You got problems with your parents, tough shit, do you think you’re special? You’ve never- You don’t _know_ what it means to starve, or to be _cold_ , or to be fuckin’ _homeless_ , and you just- stay there and act like the world really fucked you up-”

“McCree, shut the fuck up,” she shrieked, anger bursting through the inaction of her body and propelling her to stand up, “Don’t fucking talk about what you don’t know-”

“You don’t know shit either, Ashe!” He yelled, pushing her away from him. “Please enlighten me on what _massive_ problem the little trust fund missus could’ve had to warrant all this _angst-”_

The crack of the slap was loud in the empty room.

Hand tingling, Ashe felt when the tears streamed down her face, her heart nearly crawling its way out of her throat as she eyed the outline of her hand on McCree’s cheek.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she whispered, voice as wobbly as her knees. “You know- _shit-”_

It was hard to breathe - the air seemed thicker, as syrup going into her lungs, and her legs couldn’t handle standing up no longer - she fell on her knees on the floor, clutching her chest over her shirt and clawing at her skin, trying to- pull it- _out-_

“Ashe,” McCree called, “Ashe, come on. You don’t need to pull that one on-”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” she wheezed. Her vision faded to black at the edges, each breath more difficult than the next, “I’ve told- I’ve told so many people, but no one ever _fucking_ believes me-”

“Well try me,” he said, clutching at her shoulders.

“It’s just another trust fund kid problem,” she laughed, tears falling down on the worn out wood of the warehouse floor. “Why would you care, McCree?”

He paused, licking his teeth. Her slap broke skin, and coated his teeth in deep red - she could see it as he spoke, staining the inside of his mouth

“Just because I think you’re entitled doesn’t mean I think you’re a liar,” he said, hoarsely.

The words hit her like a bag of bricks - she heaved, fingers finding their way to her scalp to tug at her hair, the pain distracting her from the feeling of absolute loss inside her heart.

“I know it was true,” she whispered, “I know it was. I know what I saw.”

“What did you see, Ashe?”

She looked up to him - the strong jaw, the straight nose, the silky smooth hair falling on his angry brown eyes. Ashe swallowed, unable to look away even as she realized what a ugly ass sight she must’ve been.

“I can’t- I can’t remember much of my childhood,” she said. “Just- Just bits and pieces. But lately I-” pause, swallow, deep breath. “I’ve- been getting more.”

“More?”

“Memories,” she whispered, as if the mere word would bring about the hurricane of bad images behind her eyelids, “Pieces of memories, and they hit me out of _nowhere_ and suddenly I can’t- It’s so difficult,” she said, frustrated. “I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know why this is happening _now_.”

“Okay,” he said, “And those aren’t some happy memories, I take it?”

She shook her head, drawing in a shaky breath. Her lower lip quivered.

“I had a sister, Isabelle,” she said, quietly. “We- we were about the same age, but she was a bit older. My- My dad,” she swallowed thickly, “My dad had a- a partner. Business partner. But they would fuck too, I don’t know, and he was always around the house, and it was- it was awful, I hated him. I hated all of them.”

There was a long pause, as the reality of her past sunk into the both of them.

“What did he do to you?” McCree asked, hoarsely.

“Not to me,” she shook her head. “To her. She never- She’d tell me to hide. So I’d hide under her bed, and then he would- he would-”

“Ashe-”

“No,” she shook her head as words burst out of her as if a dam had broken inside her chest, falling out of her lips as a waterfall, water so heavy and harsh it’d destroy rocks and stones at the bottom of a river with the sheer strength of her pressure. “No, I have to say it. My mom told me I was making things up, but I was not. I was _not_ . He’d come into our room at night, and Isabelle would tell me to hide, and he’d abuse her and I’d hear _everything_ . I listened to my sister being abused for _years_ , and then she _died,_ and I don’t even- I don’t even remember how she- when she-”

A crack of lightning outside, the monsoon thunderstorm tearing through the sky.

McCree’s face did many things at once - anger, disbelief, and a sorrow so deep it hurt on her too. She could see as the pieces fell into place, as the story wrapped itself around his head, and the slight tremble of his lower lip as the magnitude of what she just shared hit him.

She licked her cracked lips and tasted salt, and wondered if that was her punishment for daring to look back.

 _And Lot's wife, of course_ , she thought, foolishly, reciting off a book she read once upon a dream _, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human._

_So she was turned to a pillar of salt._

_So it goes._

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Liz,” McCree said, pulling her closer - she fell straight onto his lap, and welcomed the pressure of his arms around her as a distraction from the weight on her chest. She melted into his hug as he tucked her head under his chin, and felt her cheeks wet with tears she had no idea she had let down. Ashe heaved, overcome with emotion, and McCree held her tighter. “Liz, goddamnit, I’m so fuckin’ _sorry-_ ”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, unsure why.

“No,” he shook his head, “No, I was the one who was a complete assfuck. I took somethin’ small and made it larger than it should and I treated you like _shit_ and you were keepin’ this- Jesus Christ, I’m the worst fuckin’ person in the _planet_ -”

“Oh no,” she said, wiping the tears overflowing his eyes. There was a deep crease between his eyebrows, and she raised her chin up to kiss it away - she didn’t think about it, but it felt more intimate than what it should be.

“I’m so sorry,” he said - his tears wet her shirt, her hair and her own face as sob after sob made its way out of his throat. “I should never- Jesus, I’m a selfish son of a bitch. Your mom tried to call, and I was goin’ through a bad couple of days, and you were actin’ weird, and I just assumed-”

“I didn’t-” she whispered. “No one- No one would believe me.”

“I believe you,” he said, voice thick from his tears, and he hugged her tightly, as if his own arms were enough to shield her from her own past, “It’s okay, Liz. It’s over now.”

She nodded more out of habit than out of compliance, but as she eyed the bruise on his neck and the blood still on her fingers, she had a nagging feeling it was just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "but luisa why are you drunk" because my country once again fucked up and i kinda wish i could disappear so my mom gave me wine so i could be less stressed so now i'm drunk and i'm stressed that's great innit
> 
> i know this chapter deals with very serious issues so if you wanna talk about it on private my discord is lazy_universes#6315 hmu and tell me what you think, i don't bite 
> 
> (yes i am actually really drunk don't @ me i wrote this when i was sober) 
> 
> i wrote actually some 4 chapters of this story so i'm planning on more regular updates, so that means i'll see you guys on the 9th of February 
> 
> take care guys and fight for the environment


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for a long, sad boi

_ I'm going to put myself in my place _

_ I will retreat to save you  _

_ from seeing the damage that remained _

_ From smelling the scent of the horror _

  
  


They treaded around each other as if they would break. 

Ashe hated it. 

It was as if there was a distance they couldn’t cross - as if opening her heart to him pushed him away more than brought him together. She figured it’d be so, because it was too heavy of a weight to bear, but she missed the easy camaraderie, the jokes, the friendly teasing, and they’d step around each other as if afraid they would explode and tear apart in a thousand small shards.

There was an elephant in the room and an underlying tension under their skin, and each overly polite comment or extra “please” they’d tack at the end of each sentence felt stranger by the minute. They would dance around the matter, each careful step a day where they were simultaneously pushing each other away and pulling themselves closer.

Ashe hated every moment of it, but didn’t know how to fix it. So she swallowed the feeling down with whiskey and sleeping pills, and slept a restless sleep. 

  
  


“Are you sure you didn’t spend this?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die, boss,” P.T said, eyes wide. The spreadsheets in front of her didn’t lie - there was three hundred bucks missing and she had no fucking clue where they went. The triplets were a bit thick-headed, and sometimes she wondered if they had two brain cells to rub against each other, but they weren’t thieves. They wouldn’t be on the team unless she trusted them with her life. 

And yet. She eyed the computer warily, as if she could spot a math mistake that would justify the missing money. They weren’t in debt - out of all the Deadlock cells, she’d bet they were the ones with the most well kept finances - but it had been a year and half and up until that point, she could tell the destination of every single penny they earned. 

She sighed, leaning back on the couch. A chilly wind came into the room, open windows welcoming the first breaths of fall. She must’ve not counted it right. None of the triplets could tell where the money would be, and McCree barely cared about cash as long as he had food in his belly and cigars to spare; there was no reason why three hundred bucks would suddenly vanish in thin air. 

The alternative was too much of a headache even to consider - there was someone breaking into their safehouse. 

“Ah, well shit,” she said, rubbing her forehead and downing the last bit of whiskey in her cup. “Goddamn it, P.T. I think there’s someone breaking in.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, running her hands through her hair. “I have cameras around the house set on B.O.B., but none where the safe is. Shit. My mistake.”

“Sure there ain’t more cash missing, Boss?” He asked, warily. 

“Not that I know of, no,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve been keeping tabs and it all worked out until now. But that was- I mean, the fuck, right? I put cameras all over the living room, catch your brother getting head-”

“Ew, Boss,” he groaned.

“But I didn’t put one near the safe,” she shrugged. “Shit. Okay. It’s only three hundred bucks, anyhow. Serves me right for being such a lighthead.”

P.T paused, biting his lower lip. 

“Boss,” he said, tentatively, “Would you mind if I told you something?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Go ahead.”

“I think,” he said, twisting his hands into themselves, “You’re being way too hard on yourself.”

“I did just lose three hundred dollars, P.T,” she said, dryly, but he shook his head. 

“I don’t mean this,” he said, quietly. “Or, I don’t mean only this. I’ve been talking to Zeke, you know? And like, yesterday at the shooting range. You missed two targets out of twenty, and all you had to say was you were a piece of shit-” 

“I didn’t mean for you to hear it,” she said.

“I’m sorry Boss, but we did,” he said, sheepishly. “And we’ve been hearing it a lot, like. I don’t know what happened between you and McCree, but whatever it was, it’s being real hard on you. How many bottles of jack have you been through the last month alone?” 

She eyed the empty bottle on the table and sighed. 

“More than I should, less than I need,” she said, tiredly. 

“Like I said Boss,” he shrugged, “You’re going to hard on yourself. McCree is a great guy, but he’s a bit thick in the head sometimes. If you want us to beat him up so you can feel better-”

She laughed out loud - the sound a bark erupting from her chest. Their loyalty was something to be reckoned with, and the small token of affection from P.T meant plenty. 

It didn’t hurt he wasn’t exactly wrong. She had been going heavy on the drink, and had even less patience than usual for herself - but didn’t think much of it. It was something she thought she had to deal on her own, but it was clearly not working as she expected.

She’d deal with it, eventually. But first, she had three hundred bucks to find. 

“Thanks, P.T,” she said. “We argued about some shit, but it’s fine. It’s just been a hard couple of months for the two of us.” 

“Whatever you say, boss,” he said, shrugging. “Offer still stands, tho.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling. “When I need someone to beat the fuck out of his arrogant face, you’ll be the first one on the list.”

P.T smiled, giving her a thumbs up. 

  
  
  
  


Fall inched closer and the weather got cold enough for a sweater in the night as the days dragged on. 

Ashe adored it.

She loved the quiet, the smell of pollen and the wildberries around the warehouse. There wasn’t much work around October, which meant she could enjoy the silence and the calm of living miles away from any other human being. As the nights grew longer and the days got colder, she could sit by the lavender garden, back resting against the brick wall of the building and just- breathe. 

The sky was blue pink and golden, the setting sun on the horizon flickering out its last breaths. She inhaled deeply, smelling the desert and the lavenders she grew, feeling oddly calm despite- well. Everything. 

Guitar on her lap, she played absently, thinking. She didn’t mean to spill all of her life’s history on McCree, and doing so sat awkwardly on her chest. The lingering feeling that she  _ shouldn’t  _ have done it was heavy on her back, and she sighed deeply, wearily. She’d been carrying it around for so long, she thought letting it out would make it better. It didn’t. 

She bit her lower lip, leaning her head back to rest against the wall. She should see a therapist. But what outlaw has  _ time _ to see a therapist? This was the life she chose to herself, and there was no taking back now. Still, she wondered what would be like, to have a lighter weight to carry, to have another past and another future. She wondered that more often enough, even as she knew it would do her no good. 

_ “I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,”  _ she sang softly, absently watching the sun set and night take over day.  _ “And I fear no evil 'cause I'm blind to it all. And my mind, my gun they comfort me, because I know I'll kill my enemies when they come-” _

Something moved to her right - she dropped her guitar and stood up-

To see McCree hand in hand with the waitress, free hand up in surrender. 

“Goddamnit, McCree,” she hissed, picking up her guitar once more, “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sorry, Ashe,” he said. Overly polite, even voice and neutral smile on his face. “We were just gettin’ in the- You haven’t met yet, have you? Ashe, this is Nat. Nat-”

“I know,” Natalie said, smiling. She had dimples on both cheeks, and was far shorter than she was - five-foot-four, at most, which made McCree a giant by comparison. Her long, dark brown hair fell in waves around her heart-shaped face, and she smiled as she meant it. 

Ashe wouldn’t know what that was even if it bit her in the ass. 

“I heard so much about you,” she said, still smiling. “Jesse really respects you-”

“Ain’t nice of you to go dissin’ me around, sweetheart,” McCree said, smirking, and something tugged at the deep of her chest when she looked at him smiling and teasing and holding someone else- 

Someone else that wasn’t her. 

Ashe took a step back, shocked at her own thoughts. There was nothing to be jealous of. McCree wasn’t interested in her, and even if he was, she  _ definitely  _ wasn’t interested in him, and even  _ if _ she was, he was still dating another woman and didn’t belong to her. Or, better yet,  _ she _ didn’t belong to anyone but herself. 

And yet. She looked at Natalie’s expectant eyes, McCree’s hand on the small of her back, and the lavenders around her feet, inhaling their smell as she took a shuddering breath. Natalie looked happy, had melanin on her tan skin and hazel eyes, and didn’t look as fucked up in the head as Ashe definitely was. She swallowed a lump that had no business in being in her throat and gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, softly. McCree raised one eyebrow, as if questioning who was she and what the fuck did she do with Ashe, but she ignored him. In fact, she didn’t look to him altogether, unsure if she was able to face him without cracking open the shell she had barely begun putting together. 

“Was that you singing?” Natalie asked. She sounded sincere, and Ashe hated it.

“Yeah,” she shrugged. ”Guitar’s pretty old, though.” 

“It was amazing,” she said, earnestly. “Really, Jesse, you should’ve mentioned she was a singer-”

“He shouldn’t,” she barked, and cleared her throat when they both stared at her, sensing the harshness in her voice. “I mean. I’m not, really. I just fool around with a guitar and whatever. Anyways, I’ll leave you two to it.” 

“Alright,” Natalie nodded. “Pleasure meeting you!” 

“Likewise,” she said, curling her lips upwards. 

“Are you gonna-” McCree asked, tentatively, and pointed at the backdoor. 

“Leave it unlocked, please,” She said, still averting her eyes. “I’ll be inside soon.” 

“Ashe-”

“McCree, please,” she said; her voice was strained and thick, “Just- Your girlfriend is inside and I want to be alone.” 

She heard the sound of the door closing as she closed her eyes, setting her guitar back on her lap and feeling the strings with her fingers. She couldn’t open her eyes and let the unwarranted tears fall. There was no need to cry, and her emotional responses were haywire after she came clean to McCree about her past. There was no reason to cry. 

_ “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life,” _ she sang, purposely ignoring the wobbliness of her own voice,  _ “and I will dwell on this earth forevermore. I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul, but I can't walk on the path of the right because I'm wrong…” _

  
  


There was a high black tower, and she was dangling off the edge, looking up. Her mother stared her down cooly, arms crossed over her chest. The monsoon weather wrapped around her neck like a noose, waiting for her to drop down to her inevitable demise, tightening her throat and cutting off what little air she had to breathe - she gasped, desperately. 

“Mama,” she pleaded, “Mama, please, mama  _ please _ -”

Her mother took a step closer and kneeled - then suddenly it wasn’t her mother, but a decayed corpse of Isabelle, looking through her pale, discolored irises. 

“Isabelle,” she pleaded, “Isabelle,  _ please-” _

“It’s you,” Isabelle said, and the voice was her own, “It was always  _ you,  _ and you need to remember.” 

Her mouth was still open in shock as her fingers slipped and she fell down, down,  _ down- _

  
  


“A Karaoke Bar, Cormac?” Ashe rolled her eyes, “Really?” 

“Don’t be a killjoy, Ashe!” Cormac said, slapping her on the shoulder. Her knees threatened to give out under the strain, but she smiled nonetheless. “It’s not every day a fine fella like yours truly turns fifty-five. With five girls to boot!”

_ Five girls indeed, _ she thought as Cormac’s daughters lined up against a wall on the bar and asked a waiter to snap a picture for them. She took another sip of her beer, looking around - it was a friday night and that was the only half decent bar in town, and to prove her point the place was  _ crowded _ . And yet, even in the sea of people, Cormac stood like a sore thumb, white suit stretched over his broad body and golden rings on his fingers flashing under the bar’s light. 

“What do you think about McCree’s new bird?” He asked her, winking. In the corner of the eye she could see the two of them slow dancing to whatever love ballad a random patron was singing. She didn’t want to look - she turned her back on them and faced the bar. 

“Tequila shot, please,” she slid the bartender a crumpled ten dollar bill, then turned to face Cormac once more. “I don’t have to think anything about it. It’s his girl, he can do whatever.” 

“Whatever?” Cormac raised one eyebrow, index finger and thumb sliding his mustache back into place. “Weird hearing this from you, Ashe.” 

“The fuck, Cormac?” She asked as the bartender handed her a shot glass, salt and lime - she licked the salt, downed the tequila and bit on the lime, wincing. 

“You know down in Mexico they don’t have tequila with salt and lime?” 

“God bless America,” she said wryly, licking her lips and taking another sip of her beer. Her boots were new and uncomfortable - she shifted in her place. 

“Heathens, all of you,” Cormac shook his head. “But what I was saying, Ashe, is that we were wondering where the two of you were finally gonna call it quits and you know, admit you like each other-”

Ashe choked on her beer so hard she snorted it out of her nose. 

“Oh-  _ Jesus fucking-  _ Cormac, what the  _ fuck _ ?!” She shrieked, coughing and feeling tears pooling in her eyes as her airways burned with the alcohol. 

“Are you telling me you never thought of it?” Cormac asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Come on, Ashe. It’s clear as day-”

“It is not clear as day and I would appreciate if you stopped talking about it,” she snapped, angrily downing the remaining beer in her bottle. 

Cormac eyed her intently, the way he eyed maps for heists or piles of loot. She shivered under his gaze, and he clicked his tongue. 

“Well then,” he shrugged, “Can I at least ask my favorite singer to get on the stage and sing for me?” 

“Jesus, Cormac,” She rolled her eyes. 

“Aw, come on Ashe,” he smiled. “It’s my birthday! You go stand over there in line, I’ll ask you a song.”

She scoffed, sliding another bill to the bartender and winking at him for good measure when he brought her second beer. Never hurt to flirt with the guy giving you alcohol, she figured. 

“I expect tequila for this trouble,” she said. 

“I’ll give you as much tequila as you want, Ashe,” he said. “Go on.”

She rolled her eyes once more for good measure, but walked away from the bar and on to the line of overly excited patrons awaiting for their shot at momentary stardom. 

“Ah shit, didn’t ask him which song it would be,” she cursed, nursing her beer as a couple butchered the lines of  _ Take My Breath Away _ . She eyed the bar - Emmett had arrived with his date for the night, and she gave him a small wave. Cormac’s girls and wife were talking excitedly to Natalie in a corner, and McCree-

“Hey, Ashe,” He said, right behind her. She shivered as she twisted on her heels, but tipped her beer in his direction. 

“Hey,” she said. “Cormac roped you into singing too?” 

“If you can’t fight them, join them,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. There was an awkward silence around the two of them, as the next patron was announced by the host and they walked closer to the stage in the line. Ashe felt her fingers itching for something to do - anything to escape the strange uncomfortable situation they were both in. 

The guy on the stage did a pretty decent job on  _ Billie Jean _ , and Ashe clapped absently as a woman got up on the stage. 

“What did he choose for you?” She asked, awkwardly. 

“Uh, I don’t know,” McCree answered. “You know Cormac, right? Might as well be whatever.” 

“He’s gonna have you sing something outrageous,” she offered. “Like, that one song about the fox.” 

“Nah, too old,” he smiled, running a hand through his hair. “Cotton Eye Joe, perhaps.” 

“That’s even older, you know.”

“It has aged well, I guess,” he said, laughing, and she laughed too - the simpleness of the moment easing a little the weight on her heart. 

“Hey, Ashe,” he called her, holding her elbow, “About the-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence - the overly excited host was already ditching the woman and calling-

“And now, give it up for Elizabeth aaaaaaaaand Jesse!” he yelled - Ashe paled, nearly frozen in her spot. 

“Oh no,” she said, “Oh no, McCree, that motherfucker set us up-”

“It sure goddamn seems so,” he said, but there was no anger in his voice - instead, there was only a boyish grin in his lips, crinkling the edge of his eyes in amusement. “But well, it’s as they say. Once in hell, give the Devil a kiss, right? Come on,” he said, as the song started to play - he dragged her by her elbow onto the stage-

The lights were blinding, and she couldn’t see much - there was a holoscreen in front of her with the lyrics, but she wouldn’t need it. Who didn’t know that  _ one _ song? It was the world’s most motherfucking famous collaboration ever written, a soundtrack of a movie that became a cult classic just years after its release. Ashe could sing it backwards if needed - she could bet McCree could too. 

_ Once in hell, give the devil a kiss _ , she thought. McCree smiled at her as he grabbed a mic, and suddenly-

Suddenly-

It was as if the world had gone missing. 

There was only his voice around his ears - hoarse and calm and his smile, his  _ smile _ , she felt her heart backflip inside her chest as she heard him sing for the first time in her life, and for the first time she understood what butterflies in the stomach meant, because she felt as if she could fly, and McCree’s sun-kissed skin under the lights of the stage in a bar in a forgotten city in the middle of Arizona was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen all her life and-

“Come on, Liz. Gimme what you got,” he leaned away from the microphone and whispered in her ear, and she took a deep breath and-

_ “Tell me something, boy, _ ” she sang, voice shaking - but there was no stage, no crowd, no friends, nothing in the moment except his smile and his eyes and his  _ eyes  _ and she knew then- 

She knew  _ then- _

_ I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in-  _

She knew then that she loved him as she never loved a single person in her life. 

The music drew to a close, and the crowd at the bar roared at their little show, but she couldn’t hear a thing - all she could see was McCree stepping closer to her, smiling as if he meant it, and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear-

“Damn you, baby girl,” he whispered, “Aren’t you something else.”

“Kiss her or I’ll goddamn will!” Yelled a random man in the crowd - and as a bucket of ice cold water thrown on her head, she noticed how close they were, Natalie’s shocked face in the corner, Cormac’s knowing smile and she- 

She needed to run. 

“I gotta go,” she said, stepping away from him and jumping off of the stage, making her way through the crowd to find the exit - she could hear McCree calling her name behind her, but she forced her way out and didn’t look back until she was riding her bike to get herself far, far away from the place that showed her all the things she didn’t want to see. 

  
  


Ashe remembered one time, when she was in her teens, when her father talked to her. 

Of course, they had exchanged words before - they did live in the same house. But that was different; she was sitting on the porch with her guitar when B.O.B suddenly got up in alert position, hands behind his broad back. 

_“Good evening, Mister Ashe,_ ” he said, his metallic voice echoing around the room. He couldn’t talk - only a few sentences programmed in him, and it pained her to no end they were all connected to her parents, but never to her.  _ Good evening, mister Ashe,  _ or  _ nothing to report, Madam Ashe _ . Never a word to her, and she could tell he wanted it - it was in his eyes, the way he blinked or the way he indulged her wildest wishes. It was so cruel, she thought. But at that moment, there was no time to ponder on her friend’s predicament. Her father was on the porch and she stood up in a fluid motion, gripping the neck of her guitar tightly as if she was busted doing something wrong. 

“Father,” she nodded, swallowing. 

“Don’t mind me, Bess,” he said, waving his hand. There was a glass in his other hand, bourbon straight on the rocks. “Mind if I sit here?” 

She shook her head, mind reeling as he took a seat on the porch steps, right next to where she was sitting, and pointed at her nose with his chin. “Your ma’s doc made a nice job over there.” 

Ashe traced the outline on the bandages on her nose, shivering. She went under the knife to fix a severely deviated septum and woke up with a new nose, courtesy of her mom - she was never asked if she wanted it or not. She kept trying to convince herself that breathing was a good enough trade-off for her mother’s wishes, but couldn’t recognize herself when she looked at the mirror in the mornings, swallowing the shame and the fear and the sheer absurdity of not recognizing her own face. 

“Yeah,” she said, quietly. 

“Pity you wanted to change it,” he said, taking another sip of his drink, “It reminded me of my mom.” 

_ I didn’t want anything _ , she didn’t say, but shrugged, still clutching her guitar tightly. 

“Listen, Bess,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees. He had deep blue eyes, like her own - hers, however, were hidden behind thick lenses in even thicker glasses’ frames. Her doctor had told her she would eventually be practically blind if it kept up like that - she didn’t want to think about it. “I know we don’t talk much, and I know I’m not father material, but I just felt like giving you a piece of advice.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say, and he took another sip of his glass, eyeing the perfectly tended garden illuminated by the moonlight in the hot summer night. Crickets sang off-key in the distance, only the light of the porch and the full moon high in the sky, heat clinging to her skin. B.O.B kept his guard up - hands on his back, still watching. 

“Our family,” he said, Texas drawl curling the vowels rolling off his lips, “Our family has a problem with addiction, you see. Runs in the blood.”

“Father, I am not doing drugs,” she said, dryly, “And Mama makes me go on a strict diet of vegetables and lean meats, so no sugars either.” 

He laughed - the first time she saw him really do it, fully committed to the task. 

“You’re bone thin but I ain’t talking about that, Bess,” he shook his head. “I’m talking about other kinds of addiction. You see, I’m addicted to money. I love it. I want all of it and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get it. Your ma, on the other hand,” he tipped his head back, “Your ma loves her status. She’s hooked on it. The thing about addiction is that it hides all sorts of things we don’t want to think about, hides all the flaws and all the problems, until it doesn’t anymore. But you’re still addicted.” 

She nodded, unsure of what to say. 

“And then,” he said, taking another sip and licking his lips, “You start fucking up. And you know you’re fucking up. And you know you’re fucking other people up, and you  _ know _ you’re wrong, but you keep doing, and you tell yourself it’s just a little longer, just a while more…”

“Father,” she whispered, “Why are you telling me this?” 

He eyed her - blue eyes staring at her deeply. 

“There was a writer once,” he said, “he wrote something I quite enjoyed. He said,  _ ‘I shall not have children. I will not pass to any creature the misery of our existence _ ’”, he sighed, rubbing his face. “I wish I had listened to him. And I’m sorry you got caught up in this mess. Because there will come a time, Bess, that your addiction will catch up on you too. And then you’ll know what it is to yearn for exactly the same thing that you know will be the end of you.”

She said nothing, merely staring at her feet. Her hands were sweating around the wooden neck of her guitar. 

“When it comes,” he said, sternly, “Your hatred will be your anchor. You will have to hate with all your heart, with all your soul. Some people are made to live in peace, but not us, Bess,” he downed the rest of his drink in one swift tip of his glass and eyed her intently. “We aren’t cut for peace. We’re creatures too soft for the world out there and hatred will be your shield. Anger won’t cut it. It has to be so deep your hate will fill up the marrow of your bones and replace whatever it is got you hooked in the first place.” 

“But what should I hate?” She asked, quietly, and he looked down to his own feet before smiling at her. 

“What do you love?”

  
  


It was early morning when McCree came home. 

He said nothing, just sat by her side in the lavender garden. Ashe would be damned if she got a wink of sleep - the scene at the bar replaying in an eternal loop in her head. The song, his eyes, her trembling knees, his smile, her love, so overwhelming and all-consuming she was afraid there would be nothing left of her to exist in its own. 

“Got light?” He asked - she passed him her lighter without saying a word. He lit up his cigar, pondering. 

“Natalie got real upset,” he said, quietly. 

“I don’t blame her,” Ashe shrugged. “If I were her, I’d dump your sorry ass right then.” 

“Yeah,” he said. The sun was rising, painting the sky all sorts of colors, and he exhaled smoke through his nose. “Ashe, I-”

“Don’t say it,” she whispered, “I fucking know, okay? Don’t fucking say it-”

“Ashe-”

“Don’t fucking come here after putting me through all this  _ bullshit  _ and just-”

“Ashe,” he said, grabbing her chin and turned her face towards him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a mess. “Stop it, will you?” 

She swallowed, saying nothing, and he sighed. 

“You gotta believe me,” he whispered, “Do you believe me?” 

“I don’t know,” she answered, voice brittle. 

“Please do,” he said, touching his forehead on hers - she could feel his erratic breath on her trembling lips, “Because what I think, Liz, is that everyone is a bit fucked over in the head, and we all fuck up every once in a while, but that doesn’t take away what a good person you are. You’re thoughtful and you’re responsible and you’re fierce and you’re the most loyal person I’ve ever met,” he shook his head, smiling. “And all I wish was I could be born again to be a better man, just so I can have you all to myself.” 

“Jesse-” she said, eyes watering, unable to take that sudden confession.

“You break my heart, you know that?” He said, cupping her face with his hands. Warm, calloused,  _ safe,  _ but oh so painful. “Every day I look at you and I know I can’t have you, it just breaks my heart, baby girl. I’ve been a real asshole to you lately and I guess somethin’ in me just wanted to have you let go of me so I wouldn’t have to-”

“Don’t leave,” she pleaded quietly, all pride going to hell as she gripped his wrists tightly. “You can’t just- You’re- you’re the only one I have left-”

The weight of her words was heavy upon his shoulders. 

“I won’t, Liz,” he said, somberly. “But that means I can never have you to myself.” 

“What do you mean?” She squeaked. 

“What I mean,” he said, drawing in a shaky breath, “Is that if I have you, I’d ruin you, baby girl. And that would mean I would have to let you go. But if I just- pretend I’m not crazy about you, or at least smother it down, that means I can never wreck you. Because I  _ know _ , baby girl. I just know I could tear you to pieces-”

“And I would let you,” she whispered, shaking her head as a desperate laugh bubbled up her throat, “So instead of not fucking up, you decide you don’t wanna try at all. You’re a fucking  _ coward _ , Jesse.” 

“I know,” he said, nodded. There were tears threatening to spill from his eyes. The truth was that he was an atomic bomb and she was the fertile ground, and touching each other would mean becoming utter and unusable rubble, unable to grow anything from the wreckage. And yet. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, twisting in itself in a deep ache. Apart they would coexist; together, they would crash and burn. And yet. 

And yet. 

“Jesse,” she whispered, breathless, as if it would be her last chance to feel alive again, “Kiss me.”

His lips on hers were the best thing she had felt in years. 

She let her hands tangle in the hairs on his nape - he grabbed her waist tightly, and she could swear she could see rainbows and galaxies and supernovas and the stardust that made up her body tingling as if to tell her that this was it, this was what she was made for, that this was it- 

He tasted sweet as raspberry cocktails and nicotine, and the taste and feel of his tongue was too much to bear - she whimpered, clinging to him tighter, unwilling for the moment to end, He ran his hands on her back, finding her nape and holding her so carefully, as if she was something precious enough he would have to handle with the utmost care-

He pulled away, breath hard on her swollen lips, and tucked a rebel strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I can’t have you, baby girl,” he whispered, and there were tears in his eyes too, and there was pain in his eyes too, and she wondered if the ache she was feeling in her chest was the same he was feeling too-

“I know,” she said, and he kissed her forehead as if he could draw the moment longer- 

Until he got up and marched outside the garden without looking back. 

Ashe tried to cry, but found her heart too overwhelmed for that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would say i'm sorry but y'all know that ain't true 
> 
> see ya nerds on the 23rd


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right on time

_ Because I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. _

_ I fear no evil because I'm blind. _

_ I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul _

_ But I know when I die my soul is damned. _

  
  
  


She know she should apologize - but the truth was, she wasn’t really looking forward to it.

“Come on, Ashe,” Emmett said, leaning back on his chair. “Why do you even have to say you’re sorry? If anything, Cormac is the one who fucked it up. I told him, Cormac, you gotta stop reading them shitty romance novels my man. Did he do it?” 

“I don’t think he did,” she said, absently. The diner was serving pancakes, but all she wanted was the brandy she knew was hidden behind the counter. She wondered what would make it come to her table faster - putting the Viper by her plate or doubling the tip. 

She did neither, downing her lukewarm coffee and wincing. 

“You damn right he didn’t,” Emmett shook his head. “You can’t play matchmaker, I say. Cormac is just crazy to have grandkids, and he’s-”

“Oh my God, Emmett, let’s not even-” She said, frowning. Truth was, she came to Emmett because she needed someone to push her to do the right thing - it was shit luck, however, since Emmett was more of a bastard motherfucker than McCree was, and at that point in time, that was saying plenty. 

“Little McCree babies?” Emmett laughed, “No way in fucking hell, Ashe. But my point is, you don’t  _ have  _ to apologize. It wasn’t your fault. Why are you so obsessed with it?”

“Because,” she shrugged, toying around with the food on her plate and poking a blueberry with the end of her knife. “Look, I saw her face, alright? And I know that must’ve been a shitty thing to witness. I don’t like catching beef with other women because of a  _ guy. _ ”

“Ah, there you go,” Emmett said. “That’s what I wanted to hear. You don’t want to have a rival.”

“Oh please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “There’s no such thing as  _ rivals _ , Em.”

“You sure?” He said, smirking - two of his teeth were made out of gold. “I hear girls fight over guys all the time-”

“And I hear you can shut your damn mouth right this second or I can make you before you spill any more sexist bullshit to me,” she said, dryly, and he laughed. “Goddamn it, Emmett. I need  _ one _ friend who isn’t batshit insane. Just  _ one _ . I didn’t have a drink yet-”

“And you shouldn’t have one at all for a long time,” he answered, suddenly serious. “Have you looked in the mirror recently? Seen how your eyes tremble?” 

“So?” she asked, wryly. “It’s been some good fifteen years they’ve been in here, the warranty has long expired. Of course they’re going to break.” 

“And I suppose the way you have trouble focusing is because your brain is out of warranty as well?” Emmett said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Are you having trouble standing up straight? Tripping a lot? I bet my left buttcheek and a good part of my savings your nose and cheeks are pretty pink under all that makeup too.” 

Ashe said nothing, merely tucking her hands under the tabletop and averting her eyes, because it was true. 

“You think we haven’t seen, Ashe?” He said, quietly. “I mean, what do I know. But is it really worth it ruining yourself because of this one  _ guy _ ?”

She eyed him, confused, and let her head quirk to the side as she considered what he said-

Oh. Oh  _ hell _ no. 

“I’m not drinking because of McCree,” she said, dryly. 

“Oh no?” Emmett said, clearly not believing a word of what she just said. ”Why are you, then?” 

She paused, swallowing. On the wall opposite to a chair a large clock, shaped like a black cat, ticktocked away in her head, counting the seconds until she needed to say the truth once more. Deep breath in, exhale, shivers. 

“I just-” she said, rubbing her nose. “I didn’t have the best childhood ever, okay? And now I’m kinda, remembering some real fucked up shit. And it’s been really difficult. I don’t know why McCree was -  _ is  _ \- I don’t know,” she shrugged. “He  _ was _ being an asshole to me after I told him I had my eyes replaced. Said something about his mom, I don’t know. And that was being real shitty because, you know, he  _ is _ my best friend, and I had no one to talk to, so it just-”

“I see,” he said, humming absently. “Well, that does sound more reasonable than you wasting yourself away because of a man. It did look very atypical for you.”

“I appreciate the trust,” she said, wryly. 

“You know I like McCree,” Emmett ignored her jab, “But the boy lacks any sort of guidance in his life. He needed someone to tell him how to act or not to act and he just does whatever it takes to protect himself. But sometimes,” he said, eyes lost, “sometimes, we just need to protect other people instead of ourselves. And we need to put other people in front of our own needs. And sometimes, we just need to shut the fuck up and calm the fuck down and grow a pair and face the world. McCree just doesn’t know how to do that yet.” 

“Well, I’m nobody’s teacher, Em,” she shrugged. The more she thought about the kiss in the lavender garden, the worst she felt.  _ Kiss me _ , she had said, like an infatuated schoolgirl, like it would change the fact that he was telling her  _ no _ . She shivered in shame. “I’m no teacher and I’m no mother. I’m not McCree’s emotional training wheels.” 

“That you ain’t,” he said. “Apologize to the girl, then, if it’ll make you feel better. And  lay low on the drink. Promise?”

“Promise to try,” she said. 

“That’s more than enough, Missus.”

  
  


McCree kept going out with Natalie. 

There wasn’t a cactus within a radius of thirty miles around the safehouse that Ashe hadn’t exploded with the Viper. 

  
  


She stood outside the diner one hour before the night shift started, but the waitresses would all be arriving soon - or at least, that’s what the morning shift waitresses had told her. 

Ashe leaned on the alleyway wall right next to the diner, sighing. She lit up a cigarette without meaning to, just to have something to do with her fingers and to distract from the smell of the garbage right next to her. She didn’t want to jump on the girl, you see, but needed to gather her bearings - after all, apologizing was not high up on the list of her abilities. 

What did she even had to say? I’m sorry I put you through the ridicule of seeing your date flirt with another girl in front of an entire bar? It seemed nice enough, but her people skills were a bit rusty after almost two years with the gang. October came in full force, pumpkin flavored  _ everything _ and Halloween decorations as enough evidence time was rushing by, and she dug her heels into the ground-

Natalie appeared on the opposite end of the street. 

Ashe couldn’t tell  _ why _ ; she could barely tell  _ how _ . But something in her gut told her to hide - behind the dumpster and shielded by a trash can. 

The scent was awful. 

Getting up from literal garbage and offering her apologies to a woman who probably didn’t want to see her at all covered in refuse did not, however, seem more appealing than standing up. 

But it was to her absolute surprise Natalie got into the alley herself, phone in hand. From what Ashe could see, squished between the dirty plastic, she looked anxious, a far cry from her bubbly personality. 

_ Ah shit _ , Ashe thought, cringing,  _ The girl is just gonna have some deep trouble and I’m here like a fucking hobo- _

“Line access code 234-oh-872, Agent Lipovetsky,” she said quietly into the phone. 

“What the actual fuck-” Ashe mouthed, but kept quiet and still. 

Someone answered from the other side - Natalie kept her face straight, but nodded. 

“Agent Lipovetsky reporting from Operation code N-I-8-1-2-2, sir.”

Ashe knew, right in that exact moment, that she had just caught something big. 

“Targets are moving well, sir,” Natalie said. “Peacekeeper is well under control. Viper will persist on being a distraction, but they have seemingly grown colder towards each other in the past few weeks. I will stand by my preliminary evaluation that Peacekeeper would be an incredible asset to Blackwatch. Viper, on the other hand, will prove to be a problem. I suggest she be eliminated to prevent further trouble in the recruitment of Peacekeeper.” 

That was them. 

She was talking about them. 

Ashe realized, with sheer horror, the picture that Natalie’s conversation had just painted - she was an infiltrated agent to whatever Blackwatch was, they wanted McCree, but they thought she would be better off dead. 

Something cold froze her spine, blood thrumming in her ears. 

They thought she would be better off dead. 

They thought-

“Do not get me wrong, sir,” Natalie continued. “I don’t think Viper is incompetent. She’s dangerous and a threat to whatever plans we might set in motion, and without her the Deadlock is gone. But she’s loyal to a fault and inhospitable to any foreign approaches. She cannot be convinced.” 

_ Damn right I cannot, _ Ashe thought, holding her breath. The stench was awful, but she got distracted by what she had just discovered - call it coincidence or divine intervention, she had just gotten Natalie figured out. 

And it was filthier than the trash she was standing in. 

  
  
  


“Jesus Christ, Ashe,

” McCree frowned as she walked into the room, “The fuck happened to you?” 

“Fell on a dumpster,” she said, absently - her mind didn’t even register his laughter as she made her way to the shower. 

  
  
  


“Are you sure?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Em?” she said, dryly. The cigarette was shaking in her hands - from the adrenaline or the abstinence of alcohol, she couldn’t tell. “I swear, that girl is bad news. I don’t have evidence, but I’m pretty damn certain.”

“Being sure never got anyone in jail,” Emmett answered. The bar was empty on a tuesday night, and they talked in hushed whispers as B.O.B looked around, awkwardly, massive body barely fitting into his wooden chair, which creaked painfully under his weight. “But something tells me you’re not basing this off a hunch and hearsay alone.” 

“I got cameras all over the house,” she said, patting B.O.B on his shoulder. The omnic blinked, hands neatly folded in his lap, “B.O.B will let me know if there’s anything suspicious going on.”

“And?” 

“And,” she said, swallowing. “Okay. I went to the diner to apologize, alright? And then when she came I just- I don’t know, I freaked out, and I hid behind the dumpster- don’t laugh,” she frowned, and he motioned his hand as if zipping his mouth. “Because I didn’t know what to say, but then I heard her talking to her boss, and said something about recruiting McCree to something called Blackwatch-”

Emmett was a tan man, skin the color of deep copper shining under the sterile lights of the bar. But as soon as she muttered the words  _ Blackwatch _ she could see he paled - blood draining from his face, eyes wide. 

“Are you sure,” he said, voice low, “That she said Blackwatch?” 

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I know it sounds a lot like  _ Overwatch _ , but I know what I heard. What is it anyways?” 

Emmett rubbed his eyes and signaled for the waitress for another drink. The one in his hand was downed as easily as a thirsty man in the desert would take water; he sighed, running his hands through his thick, long hair. 

“Blackwatch is Overwatch,” he said, hoarsely. “Or at least, the part of Overwatch that does all the dirty work Overwatch doesn’t want to get muddy with. They are the most dangerous intelligence organization in the world right now, and the fact that I even  _ know _ about them makes me uneasy. Did she said what she wanted?”

She paused, considering. Emmett eyed her with something too close to fear for comfort, and she swallowed, swirling her water around on her glass. Damn, how she wanted a whiskey. 

“She said she wanted to recruit McCree,” she whispered, “And to kill me.” 

“Well shit, Missus,” Emmett said. “Looks like you’re in some deep fucking trouble.”

  
  
  


When she got home that evening, Ashe noticed a few things. 

The first one was one huge wine stain on the couch. While none of the boys actually drank wine, it didn’t take long for her to put two and two together and figure out someone had invited a significant other over and someone had spilled wine all over the furniture. Whatever. She had more pressing matters to attend. 

The second thing was that there were new recordings on B.O.B’s security systems. 

As she uploaded them to her phone, she eyed the kitchen. It was as if a hurricane had stormed into the room, misplacing every single item within the drawers and the shelves and the cabinets on a whim. There was only one person who would do that much of a mess - so she already knew what to expect before she opened the video footage. 

McCree and Natalie were cooking in the kitchen. She zoomed into the two of them, clearly annoyed that they both had their backs to the camera and she couldn’t read their lips.  

“Bob,” she asked, “can we get an audio?” 

Bob nodded, and she turned on the volume-

_ “This has nothing to do with what happened at the bar, babe,” _ Natalie was saying,  _ “I told you I forgive you, and I do. But I’ve been noticing this for a while and you know, since there’s no one around-” _

_ “I’m around,”  _ McCree said, clearly annoyed. Or not so clearly - she wondered if Natalie could read in-between the lines, seeing the soft crease of his eyes and the way his voice got slightly deeper. 

_ “I know,”  _ Natalie sighed. _ “Look. All I’m saying is, I think Ashe takes too much out of you but doesn’t give that much back. There’s no balance, you know?”  _

_ “Ashe has her own problems to deal with, Natalie,” _ he answered, dryly.  _ “It has never bothered me so far, and it shouldn’t bother you either.” _

_ “I can’t help it,” _ she shrugged. _ “I don’t know if it’s because she’s rich, like you said. But from my perspective, it just- I don’t know. It seems like she’s always demanding more from you than what she actually gives back.” _

_ “Being rich didn’t stop her life to being fifty shades of fucked up,” _ he said, curtly. “ _ Ashe has her own very particular set of flaws, but bein’ a bad friend isn’t one of them. You’d know, if you actually talked to her.” _

_ “It’s not by lack of trying,” _ Natalie said. _ “Anyways. Did I tell you what Lauren did back at the diner yesterday?” _

As Ashe tuned out of the conversation, a few things became clear - one, that Natalie was  _ good _ ; two, that she was quite clearly trying to pit McCree against her, and three, that McCree was one hell of a loyal friend. 

The last one brought shivers to her spine, and she didn’t even try to fight the smile creeping to her lips - it would be useless. Shaking her head, she skimmed through the recording to see if there was anything else worth noting, but decided she had enough when the camera captured McCree and Natalie kissing in the kitchen like two horny teenagers. 

Ashe closed the video, pursing her lips. She wished she didn’t know what his lips tasted like and how soft they were - sometimes, she’d trace the outline of her mouth with her fingers, feeling the ghost of him tingling her skin. And to see him giving it away so freely, it was just-

“B.O.B,” she said, voice thick, “Send the other one over, please.”

The video on her phone showed her the safe - she perched up, paying attention- 

Seeing Natalie cracking the safe code open and taking a fat roll of twenties from her carefully arranged piles. 

“What the fuck,” Ashe said, “She’s stealing?”

B.O.B had half a mind to follow her around the house - she hid the safe behind the shelf once more, carefully stepping around the house to get into McCree’s room-

And hiding the money on one of the piles of clothes around it.

“Holy-” Ashe said, shoving her phone into her back pocket and rushing to McCree’s door. 

She didn’t knock, merely barged in - McCree was thankfully alone in the room, but without a single piece of clothing to his name.

He screamed. 

Ashe screamed back. 

He gathered the sheets around him to cover himself up, and Ashe had a sudden impulse to comment on what she saw. 

“The fuck you doing, Ashe?!” He asked, hair sticking wildly in every direction and eyes wide. “You scared the everliving shit-” 

“I gotta search for something,” she said, remembering her mission. There were two neat piles of clothes near the end of his bed - the room smelled sweet, and she didn’t want to think about why it was so. “Where’s Natalie?” 

“Off to work,” he said, taken aback. His voice was hoarse with sleep. “What is this about? Why are you- Hey!” He protested as she started rummaging through his clothes, undoing the piles as she threw piece of clothing after piece of clothing on the floor, looking for that one roll of dollars she knew it was hidden there. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Ashe?”

“Maybe,” she said, fingers touching a paper cylinder - and true enough, the same roll of 20’s Natalie had taken from the safe. She eyed the clothes, McCree and the money, trying to make sense of it. If she didn’t take the money, why would she hide it  _ here _ , of all places? Did she know McCree was completely oblivious to how much he spent? She was the one who kept the money - McCree said he had enough of worrying about it for a lifetime. So why-

It clicked, then - she was setting McCree up. 

Ashe looked at McCree’s bed head, the angry nail marks at his shoulders, the confusion and worry in his eyes, and felt a deep anger, boiling in her bones until it poisoned her flesh and blood, her nerves and skin seething with an uncontrolled hatred so deep and wild she was half sure she would have killed Natalie right there if she could. 

She was a mean bitch, but she would raise hell before anyone would fuck up her family. And screw it if she was Blackwatch, fuck it if she was good in her game - hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, her grandma used to say.

“We gotta talk, McCree,” she said, and the mere tone of her voice was enough to get McCree to tremble.

  
  
  


“Okay, look”, McCree said, raising a hand. “Natalie stealin’? I don’t  _ like _ that, but I can believe that. Girl’s got enough money problems to care about. Natalie bein’ a superspy keeping an eye on me for fucking S.H.I.E.L.D or whatever-”

“Blackwatch,” Ashe answered, dryly. 

“Whatever,” He rolled his eyes. “That ain’t a thing, Ashe. Come on.” 

“Are you fucking doubting me?” Ashe asked, throwing the cigarette butt on the dirt floor of the lavender garden and crushing it with her heel. 

“Well, wouldn’t you?” McCree shrugged. “If you were dating someone and I came out of nowhere and said, hey, this guy you’re seeing is actually a spy who wants to recruit you and kill me, would you believe me?”

“Yes,” Ashe said, without skipping a beat. McCree shifted in his place, uncomfortable with her knee-jerk answer. 

“Okay,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Look- Okay. I’ll bite. What do you want me to do? Dump her?” 

“No,” Ashe said, dryly, “I want you to kill her.”

McCree opened his eyes so wide, she was sure they would burst at the seams.

“Whoa,  _ whoa _ , baby girl, let’s slow down a minute,” he raised his hands. “You can’t just- go around and kill people-”

“Why not?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “We do that all the time, that is literally our jobs. Natalie is fucking up my business, and no one fucks up my business. I want her head. Simple as that.”

“It’s not simple as that,” he said, “Are we really having this conversation?”

“We are having this conversation,” she answered. “I have evidence she was trying to frame you. I have evidence she is using you to tear my business apart. What more do you want? For her to confess to her wrongdoings?”

“That would be ideal, yes,” he said. The air was crisp and cold with the upcoming winter. It was colder than usual for October, and she wondered if this was the year she would see the Grand Canyon taken by snow and ice. “It would be nice to know I’m actually not fucking up an innocent person’s life-”

“She’s not innocent,” Ashe insisted, and McCree rolled his eyes so hard she had half a mind to worry if they would stuck to his skull - his face turned sour, thick eyebrows furrowing and licking his lips. 

She eyed him, then - the nose, the jaw, the hair falling on his eyes, the cigar hanging by his lips. It seemed like it had been a hundred years since he kissed her in that very garden, telling her he couldn’t love her because he couldn’t lose her. McCree was a great person, but under the pale moonlight, feeling the wind tousling his hair, he felt like a joke. 

“Spill it,” she said, eyeing him worrying his lower lip. 

“I don’t have anything to say,” he said - his nostrils flared. He was lying.

“Your nose says something different,” she raised one eyebrow. “Spill it.”

“Jesus, Ashe, just-” he sighed, rubbing his face. “It’ll do a whole lot of harm I can avoid, okay? Just. Whatever. I’ll find a way to fix this that doesn’t involve  _ killing _ Natalie-”

“Why?” she asked. “I wanna know, McCree. I think you owe me as much.” 

He held her stare and his breath as she stared him down. She wouldn’t back off on it and he knew it - it was better to go with the flow. 

“Look,” he said, quietly, “Don’t take this as- I don’t know. Just don’t take this personally, okay? Because from where I am standing, right here, in my shoes, it just- It just looks like a really weird bout of jealousy.”

Ashe felt her blood  _ boil. _

“I hope you remember that when I’m dead on the ground, you son of a bitch,” she hissed, poking him on the chest, “And when I’m dead, make sure to blame yourself for every single minute of you life because  _ your _ soft heart let  _ me _ die. Maybe  _ then _ you’ll grow the fuck up, you fucking coward,” she kicked one of the bushes in her frustration, stomping back inside the house. 

“Ashe-”

“Go fuck yourself, McCree,” she said, slamming the door so hard behind her the windows of the warehouse shook. 

  
  


Ashe liked to say she was a good strategist - after all and after so many successful heists, she felt as if she could brag a bit about her planning abilities. 

Of course, her planning demanded her time to sit on the question for a bit, ponder calmly what all the possible outcomes were. It never hurt to be prepared, and disaster only struck when she delegated the plan to someone else. 

In this case, she was sure disaster would strike anyways. 

She didn’t have a plan. If anything, she had called Emmett and told him she was going to confront Natalie and he best be prepared to save her ass. B.O.B was also tracking her every move. But she was on her own, only trusting her gut, her head and sheer dumb luck to get her out of what most certainly was a sure death. 

The wind roared in her ears as she ran through the Arizona highways with her bike, and she felt each beat of her heart drumming against her chest as a reminder that she was alive, and a reminder that life too was fleeting. 

  
  


Natalie lived in a small house on the outskirts of the nearest town - it was a twenty-minute walk from the diner, if she got the distance right. But it was early morning, and Ashe sat outside, waiting, cigarette gripped tight between trembling fingers. 

The first signs of dawn were peaking on the horizon when she could see Natalie walking home, hands deep into her jacket’s pockets. Ashe flickered off her cigarette, not bothering in putting it down. Let her house burn, what did she care. 

When Natalie saw her, her eyes went open wide. She hurried her steps, nearly jogging to the front door. 

“Ashe!” She said, brows furrowed. “How did you-”

“McCree,” she said, dryly. “I mean, he did note down how to get to your house on a piece of paper. You can’t blame me for checking it.” 

“I suppose not,” Natalie said, flustered. “Well- Did something happen? Is Jesse alright?”

Ashe sighed, heart beating wildly against her bones. 

“Cut the bullshit, Lipovetsky,” she said quietly - Natalie’s face went from apprehension to sheer horror. “I’ve got your number, and you’re real fucked-”

She couldn’t even finish her sentence - there was a sharp pain on her leg, her eyes got heavy and the world faded to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends 
> 
> my goal was to post this in two weeks but next week is the brazilian new year's eve party also known as Carnival, and I plan to wear bikinis and get very fucking drunk dancing to campy songs in the street 
> 
> the week after that i'll have my bar exam 
> 
> so i'll see you on the 23rd yet again


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violence

_ Tell me which one is worse _

_ Living or dying first _

_ Sleeping inside a hearse _

_ I don't dream _

 

Isabelle would always appear in her room at night, sit by as she played with her toys. Ashe would ask her to play, but it was futile - Isabelle was white, but wasn’t albino, and her hair was golden, falling around in carefully combed waves just as her Ma’s hair used to be. Her eyes were deep blue and empty, and she would sit by her chair and watch her play, saying nothing. 

When it was almost time to sleep, she would stand up and lay down in bed. 

“Hide, Liz,” she would say, “He’s almost here.”

Ashe would. 

  
  


She woke up feeling her tongue sticky and heavy in her mouth. 

Ashe groaned, feeling like absolute  _ shit. _ She had steered away from the alcohol, but it felt like a hangover straight from hell - rolling her head to the side, she tried to rub her eyes-

Her hands were bound. 

Reality hit her like a freight train, and she opened her eyes quickly - the light on her face was blinding, and her head pulsed in pain with the sudden outburst of clarity. She moaned, squeezing her eyelids to take look around. 

It was a warehouse. Bare, only a few machines left from whatever operation had happened there long before, the dirt floor and cobwebs on the floor giving her a sense this place hadn’t seen human life in many years - except, it seemed, for that moment. 

Natalie was in the corner. She had ditched her casual clothes, black jumpsuit tight on her small body, hair in a tight ponytail and phone in hand, where she was typing furiously. Her memories hit her, then - Natalie was a spy, Natalie wanted her dead, and Natalie had her drugged and bound in a warehouse in God knew where. Her prospects weren’t the best, really, and even though Ashe wanted to say she had worked with worse odds, truth was she had not. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Natalie said, dryly. Her natural voice had a british accent, and Ashe would roll her eyes if it didn’t make her want to stab her own head in pain. A british spy.  _ Wow _ , no one would have seen that one coming. 

“What did ya’ do?” She asked, slurring through the words. Natalie raised her wrist, where a contraption gleamed silver under the sterile lights. 

“Sleep dart,” she said. “Couldn’t have you kicking and screaming all the way here, could I?”

“Hell if I know, doll,” Ashe shrugged, voice thick. She was sitting on a wooden chair, arms tied behind her back and legs tied tightly together. Her elbows and wrists hurt, and she pulled on them softly, testing her bonds. If she kept pulling on her hands, the thick rope would definitely break the skin. 

She pulled a bit more. 

“You do know a bloody lot,” Natalie spit, walking closer. She had  _ heels _ . Who the fuck wore heels to a secret mission? What sort of issue uniform included heels? “How did you?” 

“Hm?” 

“How did you know?” Natalie said, close enough to touch now. Ashe swallowed, wondering how she should pull this off. She had to make Natalie lose control - she had to be afraid. And what’s more scary than someone who isn’t scared of anything? 

She gave Natalie a sweet smile.

“You’re too dumb,” she said, saccharine, “Or maybe I’m too smart. Maybe I’m magical, who knows?” 

“There’s no such thing,” Natalie said, dryly. “You know my name, what else?”

“I know that you’re after McCree and I,” Ashe said, licking her chapped lips. “I know you call him Peacekeeper and that you call me Viper. I know you said he would be a great asset, but I can’t be persuaded. And I know you’re Blackwatch.”

There were a few moments where Ashe felt she was the queen of the world - as if all the engines in the planet whirred to give her a power rush that made her high, giddy, drunk on the feeling of owning the very ground she stood. It was the feeling she felt right when a heist begun, right as she saw the look of defeat and fear on the faces of her enemies, it made her heart thrum, skin shivering, and the smell of gunpowder always smelled like victory. 

Right then, she felt it - Natalie’s eyes opened wide, her mouth hung open- 

And the loud crack of the slap filled the room. 

She stumbled in the chair, nearly tipping to the ground. Her cheek ached with the strength of her hand, and the taste of copper filled her mouth - but something inside of her felt as if that was the missing shift, and laughter crawled up her throat. She wheezed, licking her teeth and tasting blood. She eyed Natalie wildly high on the rush and on adrenaline, and she smiled wildly.

“You think you’re good shit, doll?” she whispered, “You ain’t seen shit. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“I know who you are,” Natalie said, scorning. “I know you are a rich spoiled kid who thinks the world owes you big time. I know you ruined an operation  _ years _ in the making to remove the Asset without major damage, and I know Blackwatch is coming for you, bitch.” 

Ashe wheezed and laughed, and laughed, and  _ laughed _ \- she laughed so hard she felt blood and saliva dripping from her lips and staining her chin, her mascara running from her eyes in twin paths of dark black from under her eyelids. Natalie was one strong motherfucker - the skin inside her cheek tore apart easily, and she licked the wound as if to savor it. 

Behind Natalie, Isabelle eyed her with empty eyes. 

“You got it wrong, doll,” Ashe said, laughter bubbling from her throat, “You got it  _ all _ wrong. You think you can keep up with me? I sniffed your game the moment you stepped into the room. You think I was  _ jealous _ ? Of  _ McCree? _ ” she cackled, folding on her stomach as much as her bound hands would allow her, “I can get dick whenever I want to. But fucking up people fool enough to mess with me? That I gotta savor,” she said, smiling wildly. The blood on her chin dripped on her white shirt, and she wondered how she looked, laughing like a maniac under a sterile light, lying through her teeth, if she looked as powerful and dangerous and wonderful as she felt, “I ain’t another target, doll. I’m gonna be your downfall.” 

The incoming punch didn’t even hurt as much as it supposed to. 

  
  


She had been punched, kicked and yelled at for what seemed to be hours, now. She didn’t know how long had been - what she did know was that riling up Natalie was too much fun to let it pass. Natalie kept asking her questions, and while it should be obvious that she would  _ never _ answer to any of them. it was endearing that she kept trying. 

That was the catch, she figured. Natalie was  _ endearing _ , which is another way to say she was a fucking  _ freshman _ to whatever this secret service bullshit was. Ashe had guessed it. 

“So, let me see,” she had said. “You were an overachiever child and when you joined Blackwatch, you were an overachiever recruit. So your boss trusted you to a mission that would be simple enough if things went according to your plan, and since you have a huge problem dealing with things that don’t necessarily dance to your music-”

“Shut the fuck up, Ashe,” she hissed. 

“When I showed up to your door, you freaked the fuck out,” she continued, nodding to where Natalie was gripping her cell phone so tightly her knuckles became white, “Brought me here, but now you can’t get in touch with your agency. Or, no, wait,” she narrowed her eyes, “You  _ did _ get in touch, but the answer they gave you isn’t what you were expecting. So  _ now _ you’ve been using me as a punching bag to get any sort of leverage-”

Natalie’s fist connected right on her temple, breaking the skin. 

“I told you to shut the  _ fuck  _ up, Ashe!” Natalie yelled, pulling her hair so harshly she could hear her neck crack. Ah, shit, that would definitely hurt tomorrow. 

“I’m going to assume that means I’m right,” she wheezed, and for her smile she got yet another kick to the legs. 

It was interesting, playing the part of the mobster. She could see Natalie starting to break - all her attempts to question her or even get any sort of confession from her were in vain, and she became increasingly more violent the more radio silence she got from her superiors. Either Blackwatch was a fucking joke or  _ Natalie _ was a fucking joke - she was tempted to think the latter, merely because it would annoy Natalie to no end. 

But her body ached from the uncomfortable position, and she would bet a kidney and half her assets her face looked like one swollen mess of purple, black and blue. Whatever. The worst Natalie treated her, the more poignant the point she was going to prove - because when McCree came, and he  _ would _ come, he’d be faced with the direct result of his cowardice. 

Ashe licked her swollen lips and smiled as Natalie tried completing a call once more. 

 

It was night. She knew as much because of the grasshopper’s incessant singing, the smell of the night burrowing deep into the warehouse. It was cold and she had a flimsy cotton button down to her name, which didn’t amount to much. 

Natalie’s phone rang. 

She ran so fast Ashe was sure there should be a cartoon-worthy trail of dust behind her feet. As she picked it up, she could see a small frame by her side, blue eyes and golden hair staring at her emptily. Isabelle said nothing, merely shrugged, and Ashe barked out a laugh. 

“What are you doing now?” Natalie called, as whoever rang her in the first place had apparently placed her on hold. 

“I’m talking to my sister,” Ashe said, nodding. “She’s behind you.” 

Natalie looked back, eyes wide, then groaned when she saw no one. 

“I’m serious,” Ashe insisted, “She haunts me to this day. Did you know I’m haunted?” 

“I don’t care, Ashe,” Natalie spit. 

“But I am,” Ashe said, electing to ignore what she said. Isabelle blinked. “I was the first person to find her body when she hung herself, and she stuck with me ever since. She goes wherever I go. What do you think about that?”

“I think you’re batshit crazy,” Natalie said, “And you’re a- Oh, hello. Captain Reyes.” 

Whoever Reyes was, he had a loud voice. Or maybe the room was just too quiet - she could hear his side of the conversation easily. 

_ “We don’t make hostages, Agente Lipovetsy,” _ he said, dryly. “ _ You had a mission to recruit a potential Blackwatch member, and now you have the leader of the gang in house arrest-” _

“With all due respect, sir,” she answered, quietly. “There was nothing else I could’ve done-”

_ “You could have lied, Lipovetsky! You could have used the training we gave you to solve this mess, and instead you  _ panicked _ like you were a cadet in the first day of bootcamp! _ ”

“Sir, I know, but-”

_ “I don’t give a flying shit, Lipovetsky,” _ he said.  _ “We taught you a particular set of skills, use them. Get us our intel and get yourself out of this fucking situation. Consider it a test. _ ”

The phone call was off, then. Natalie’s face had many expressions at once - fear, hatred, anger and disbelief

“I guess your boss didn’t want to bail you out,” Ashe laughed, and when the crack of the slap echoed across the room, she figured it was worth it. 

  
  


She could feel B.O.B coming. 

It wasn’t a gut feeling. There was a chip buried deep within the folds of her brain which told her where he was at all times. In the beginning it had been very overwhelming, and she couldn’t bear to be away from him for more than minutes at a time, but as she grew older it was a welcome background noise of safety and familiarity. E.T.A, 1-hour-34-minutes-17-seconds, it’d pop out randomly in her head. E.T.A, 47-minutes-23-seconds. E.T.A, 23-minutes-11-seconds. E.T.A, 12-minutes-57-seconds. E.T.A 4-minutes-44-seconds. E.T.A-

“It’s been really nice being in here with you, Lipovetsky,” she called. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave now.” 

Natalie raised her eyes from her hands, standing up slowly. She had been restless through the night, pacing, yelling, trying to question her and failing miserably, but had been quiet for the last few hours, pondering. 

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you, anyways.”

That wasn’t what Ashe was expecting, but she swallowed her surprise and rolled with it anyhow.

“Oh?”

“There’s no other way,” she said quietly. Her fingers were trembling. “I can’t risk it. I’ll call McCree and make a deal-”

“A deal you don’t intend to keep,” Ashe whistled. “Damn, girl, that’s cold.”

“That’s life,” she said. “You’ve done worse. You stole from a lot of good people, and you killed a lot of good people-”

“And that’s why you have to steal from a lot of good people and kill a lot of good people, to make sure the evil people won’t steal or kill? Hah, that’s rich. Fuck you, actually. You don’t need to convince  _ me _ that you’re doing the right thing, you just need to convince yourself. Good luck on that. But whatever plans you have, I suggest you do them in the next 27 seconds, because-”

A loud  _ boom _ echoed around the warehouse, shaking its walls, and Ashe smiled through the pus, the snot, the dried blood and the sweat. 

“McCree will be here at any second now,” she smiled, sickly sweet.

“Ashe!” his voice echoed through the room, loudly as he banged on the locked doors. “Ashe, are you there?” 

“Jesse!” She yelled back, voice purposedly wobbly and hoarse, while she winked at Natalie with her one good eye. “Jesse, Jesus Christ, watch out, she has a  _ gun- _ ” 

“You sick motherfucker-” she muttered, but couldn’t finish her sentence - there was a loud  _ bang,  _ the sound of wood cracking, and B.O.B bust through the warehouse doors, followed by a wide-eyed McCree and Emmett, all three downing guns larger than their own heads. 

“You best drop whatever bullshit you have on, doll,” Emmett said, “It’s game over for you.” 

  
  


It was Natalie who was tied to the chair instead of herself - her eyes were spacey, as if she had no idea where she was or what she was doing. Ashe didn’t know if it was a trick or if Natalie was just that bad at failing and problem solving, but she couldn’t care any less as Emmett brought her a mirror to help her clean the mess her face had become. 

“It’s best you do it yourself,” he said, “Might just bruise it more.”

“Thanks, Em,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. Emmett was a good friend. 

McCree, who couldn’t face anyone in the warehouse to save his life, was not. 

Looking in the mirror was a shock. She knew it was bad, but didn’t know it was  _ that _ bad - broken nose, swollen eye, her cheek looked like a balloon ready to burst. There were blood stains all over her skin, her clothes and her hair, and while the damp fabric he brought her was enough to take most of the grime, she desperately needed a shower. 

But there was something she needed to do, first.

“McCree,” She called. 

“Ma’am,” he answered, dryly. 

“Take Lipovetsky to the back of the building, please,” she said, tying her hair up.

“What do you-”

“You are not in a position to ask me any questions, McCree,” she said, cooly. “Do as I said.” 

He said nothing, merely standing up from where he was crouching and grabbing Natalie by her forearm, dragging her outside the warehouse - she didn’t offer any resistance, following along. Ashe scoffed, rolling her eyes. So much drama for absolutely nothing. Natalie was a piece of shit. 

“Help me get this shirt off,” she said, wincing as Emmet helped her out of her ruined button down. She ripped one of the sleeves off, not bothered with being only in a flimsy tank top and pants, and made sure she had the Viper back on its harness. 

“You want me to finish her off?” Emmett asked. 

“No,” she said, cooly. “McCree started this, McCree will end this. But if you could give this place a thorough cleaning-”

“Sure thing,” Emmett said, and bit his lower lip, pondering. “Look. Don’t go too hard on the boy-”

“Why?” Ashe asked, dryly. “Why does everyone ask  _ me _ to go easy on McCree but no one tells  _ him _ not to be a piece of shit? He needs to grow a fucking pair and age some good ten years to get on my level, Emmett. I was the one trapped in this place being used as a punching bag to a crazy half-assed secret agent while he frolicked around the woods doing God knows what. I won’t go easy on him because I’m not his fucking mother, I’m his business partner and I don’t like anyone fucking with my business. Are we clear, Emmett?” 

“Crystal,” he nodded, pursing his lips. He wasn’t happy, that was for sure, but Ashe didn’t have any energy left to give a shit. She stepped outside the warehouse, momentarily blinded by the sun, and noticed her eyes were having a hard time focusing. Shit. The bitch had fucked up her implants-

McCree and Natalie were leaning on the back wall, while Natalie sobbed in his arms. 

Her anger wasn’t something she could explain. It was all-consuming, everlasting, and made her peripheral vision disappear while she could only focus on the scene unfolding in front of her - but deep down her chest, in a part of her soul she didn’t want to reach or even listen, the screaming and hard truth that after all she’d done, after all they’ve been through, McCree didn’t give a shit. 

The realization was so painful her knees threatened to buckle. It wasn’t because she was foolishly in love with him, or because she was ninety-nine percent sure Natalie was faking her ugly crying to get McCree to pity her and it was  _ impossible _ someone would fall for that so many times in a row - it was because Ashe would die for him without a second thought, and he took time of his day to lean a shoulder for  _ Natalie  _  to cry on and didn’t even spare  _ her _ a second glance. And yet, he had no problems calling Ashe for help - he expected her to solve his every problem, but had no intention of doing the same. 

To put it simply, it meant she was being used. 

Jesse McCree was a piece of shit and her patience had evaporated by the second time Natalie kicked had her in the shins. 

“McCree,” she called. He froze, turning slowly, and she threw the piece of fabric on his direction. “Blind her.” 

“Liz-”

“No,” she said, trying not to wince at the nickname. It seemed so distant now, as if there was a world between that one moment they were open with each other and this absolute betrayal. “Do it. Or I’ll blind her with my bare fingers.” 

They both paled, and she could hear him mutter a soft  _ sorry _ when wrapping the fabric around her eyes, tying it tightly. Ashe felt anger boiling so deeply in her chest she was afraid the steam would burn off her heart. 

“Follow me,” she said, dryly, and turned around to hide the absolute heartbreak in her eyes. 

  
  


She made them drive for hours through the desert. It was good to put her head in place, but she knew McCree and Natalie were probably pissing themselves in fear of what she was doing. 

She couldn’t care any less. 

There was a gaping hole in her chest where the anger was. It was colder now, infinitely heavier. She sighed, pulling off-road into a wide stretch of desert, far enough away from civilization that she could put her mind at ease. 

Corpses can usually disappear within a few days if left to the elements in the Arizona desert. 

She knew this more as a curiosity than as a necessary skill in her line of work. 

But when she pulled Natalie out of McCree’s bike, shoved her on her knees and kicked her stomach for good measure, she knew it was exactly what she needed in that very moment. 

“Do you have your gun?” She asked McCree, who eyed her with pleading eyes. 

“Liz, don’t-”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said, cooly. They stared each other off - fear and hatred all together in a single exchange. 

_ What do I hate? _

“You started this bullshit, you end this bullshit,” she said, patting his holster for the Peacekeeper and putting it on his palm. “I told you what I wanted you to do. My business,  _ my _ rules.” 

He swallowed thickly, shivering. 

“Ashe,” he pleaded. “Come on. You’re better than thi-”

“Shove it,” she said, “I hope you learn your lesson, and I hope you remember that without me, you’d be nothing,” her words were sharp shards of ice, razor thin, and she stepped into his personal space with such fury she felt larger than life, towering over his cowardice, “you’d be stealing diners and herding cows and thinking the world owes you shit and hoping one day you’d be great. I  _ made  _ you great. You’d be stuck in a farm and and you’d die on that farm and you’d never,  _ ever _ , be anything other than a forgotten name in an obituary. You owe me _ everything _ , and you best prove your gratitude right now.”

She saw it, then. When something shifted inside of him, something breaking, something crashing, and those big brown eyes got rounder and rounder-

But she didn’t want to see. She didn’t want anything but hopping on her bike and driving far, far away, to whenever she could be away from such betrayal and heartbreak and sadness and  _ pain- _

_ What do you love?  _

The sound of a gunshot was loud even against the sound of her own bike and the feel of her own tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> carnival: thoroughly enjoyed, my liver hates me now 
> 
> bar exam: passed the first part, now on to the second 
> 
> this fic: to be posted again on the 6th 
> 
> me: in love with all your kind comments 
> 
> yee: haw


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child abuse, violence, mental decline
> 
> like, really, DO NOT IGNORE THESE, don't say i didn't warn you

_ Remember the future _

_ We agreed on?  _

_ I was such a child, and I still am  _

_ Wanting to believe dawn will come  _

_ Just because an old song told me so  _

_ But don’t just leave me here so alone  _

_ Torturing myself  _

_ Because one day he’ll leave, little sister,  _

_ Never to come back.  _

  
  
  


October bled into November, Fall disappeared into Winter, and it soon it was December - the most dreaded of all months. 

It was cold in Arizona. More than what it used to be - some days she would wake up to snow on the ground, and B.O.B’s engines creaked and wheezed, steam coming off of his joints. She would pat him on the shoulder, fix him with a healthy dose of oil, put a beanie on his head to protect the delicate circuitry inside. It looked funny - an Omnic as large as B.O.B, looking like the world’s gentlest giant, with an ugly ass beanie on his head. 

Children smiled when they saw him, asked for hugs and parents asked for pictures. It was lovely, really, and should warm hearts in the dead of winter. 

Not hers, though. Christmas was all around the corner, the out-of-character snow making it look magical, but she felt cold and empty inside, and the only thing that would warm her up was the whiskey she promised she would cut off. 

Whatever. If dying was the worst that could happen, she could only see positives in favor of keeping up the alcohol. 

  
  


There was a christmas tree on her living room. 

Zeke, P.T and Terran looked at her with wild eyes, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop and her characteristic rage to come sweeping down their souls. But she eyed the makeshift tree - they had stitched pieces of cacti on a larger cactus, and Zeke had one handful of splinters to his name - and saw the lavenders as the decoration, the first thought in her mind was that it was hands down the ugliest fucking thing she had ever seen. She paused, arching an eyebrow. 

“Will someone care to explain?” She asked, dryly. The three eyed each other warily, as if daring the first one to speak - P.T. cleared his throat, twisting his hands behind his back.

“We thought you were a bit sad, boss,” he answered, and they all knew  _ a bit sad _ was the understatement of the year. Ashe was downright depressed - she knew that because B.O.B kept lighting up his Vitamin D lightbox in hopes of making her less sad. “We thought, you know. We know you said no Christmas anything in the warehouse, but it’s not technically a christmas tree, it’s a lavender cactus. So you technically can’t be mad.”

“A lavender cactus,” she said. She knew she should feel- something. Anger, joy, sadness, something bittersweet, whatever it was. But she could feel nothing - there was nothing inside her chest but a gaping emptiness, and an urgent wish to disappear. But she sighed and forced herself to smile. The triplets were trying to be nice - they didn’t deserve to be treated like shit. 

“Thanks, guys,” she said, quietly. “I know I haven’t been the best to be around-”

“It’s fine, boss,” Terran offered. 

“Yeah,” Zeke completed. “We know it ain’t easy, being in your shoes. We just want to let you know you can count on us. You know?” 

“Yeah,” she said, voice thick. She was touched by the gesture, after all. “Yeah, thank you. Really. This was very nice of you.”

The way they beamed at her and high fived each other - which left Zeke whimpering in pain with his splinters - and she wondered why she felt more like their mother than their friends. 

  
  


_ “And after a manhunt throughout the Arizona state, the chase for Ian Montgomery has finally come to an end. After an anonymous phone call back in September connected him with the death of Avery Mallory, whose body was found last August, police officers have finally caught up with the man in the city of Dolan Springs, near the border with Nevada and eighty miles away from Las Vegas. He is being charged with first degree murder, and could face life in prison, following Arizona’s abolishing of the death penalty exactly ten years ago. In an official statement, Avery’s mother, Julia Mallory, has thanked the police for their efforts, and stated she now needs her privacy to start healing. Our thoughts and prayers are with her family in this difficult time. And now, a surprising victory following an incredible turnover makes the Arizona Cardinals the unforeseen favorite in this year’s NFL season, winning a tight 37-31 victory over last year’s champion the Green Bay Packers…” _

“Shit,” said Emmett, tipping his beer towards the holoscreen in her living room. “I should’ve bet on the Cardinals, goddamnit. I think Cormarc owes my left buttcheek now.”

“Yeah,” she said, vaguely, thinking if Julia felt it was easier to breathe knowing who had ripped her heart out of her body and crushed into smithereens. 

  
  


Maybe it was finding Avery that had kickstarted all of this. She always had her dreams, of course, but nothing as drastic as what she had after she discovered her body forgotten in the desert. It did her no good wondering what could’ve happened - the past was the past, and that’s all it was. But still, she couldn’t help but wonder what had Avery’s body set free inside her soul, what part of her rotten corpse had made her own heart start to fester in her chest, she wondered if Avery was in peace now that her murder had been solved, and if she finally would let Ashe be in peace. 

But as she laid down to sleep at night, as she closed her eyes and saw the tall black tower with Isabelle’s rotten body waiting to throw her from the edge, she knew being in peace would never be that easy. 

  
  


“You’re are gonna freeze out here.”

“Hm,” she hummed, absently, lighting a cigarette. McCree had barely talked to her after Natalie. She couldn’t blame him - she never knew she could be as cruel as she had been, letting the girl to die on her own. When he came home covered in blood and with a lost look on his face, she knew she might have had overstepped her boundaries. 

She couldn’t deal with it, however. She couldn’t spare the energy to pick apart their interactions and discover how she could make amends. There was no energy left to spare in her body, nothing else she could give - and especially, nothing else she could give  _ him _ . 

The lavender garden was dead. The snow had frozen the bushes so that no life could breathe out of its leaves, the flowers frozen and lifeless. It was as sad and barren as Ashe felt, and she inhaled her cigarette with renewed purpose. Between the alcohol and the nicotine, one had to do the job of offing her before she had to take matters into her own hands. 

“You need to open the safe,” he said, cooly, dryly, averting his eyes as if her mere image was too painful for him. “The triplets need bus money for Christmas.”

“B.O.B knows the code, ask him,” he said, blowing smoke and watching it mix with the white sky. There would be heavy snowfall later on, she figured, but couldn’t evoke any emotion about it. 

There was a pregnant pause, a moment of silence. 

“You know, I was thinkin'-”

“No wonder it smells like burning shit in here,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Why didn't B.O.B search for you?” he asked, dryly. “Didn't he know where you were?”

“He did.”

“So?”

“I told him not to,” she said. Silence was loud and heavy on their shoulders, the weight of their choices sinking in. 

“Why?”

“Because I wanted you to face your cowardice,” she shrugged. He shivered, wind blowing soflty and rustling the leaves of the lavender bushes. 

“How do you sleep at night, Ashe?” McCree asked - his voice was so low and hushed it was barely a whisper. She smiled, then, completely devoid of happiness. 

“I don’t, McCree,” she answered. “I haven’t slept in ages.” 

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Natalie had family, had friends. How could you- How  _ dare  _ you-”

Ah, yes. The elephant in the room. She took another drag of the cigarette, fingers curling lazily around the paper tube, and realized she had nothing to say. 

“I did what I thought was right,” she shrugged. “I might have overreacted, yes, but what’s done is done and I can’t change the past. You know what I regret? That I didn’t let her kill me. Would’ve saved me the goddamn time to gather the courage to do it myself.” 

“No, you see, this is it Ashe,” McCree said, angrily smacking his lips in disapproval. His serape was so red against the white snow on the ground, it looked just like an open wound. “You don’t get to- do what you did to her, and ask what you asked of  _ me _ , and act like  _ you _ were the one who got traumatized and- shit-”

He inhaled a shaky breath, steadying himself on the wall. Ashe didn’t know what to say, let alone what to do, and took another drag from her cigarette. 

“I’m not acting like anything,” she said, quietly. “I simply don’t see any reason to be around here. I don’t have friends, I don’t have family, and the only person I trusted with my life used me.”

There it was, out in the open, left in the wild, the truth untold. She swallowed, licking her lips. Around them there were hundreds of lavender flowers dead on the ground, waiting to be swallowed back by the earth that had allowed them to grow in the first place. And for the first time in  _ months _ , McCree looked at her in the eye - there was so much sadness, so much heartbreak, so much hatred, she felt her heart tremble. 

She didn’t avert her eyes. 

“I didn’t use you, Ashe,” he said. “I just treated another person like a human being. Maybe you should try it, once. It’s called not being a fucking psychopath.” 

“Oh, that’s what we’re calling me now?” she snorted, shaking her head. “That’s an improvement. Good SAT word there, McCree. Can you spell it? Or do you need my help to do that too?” 

Ashe knew she was being a huge jerk using McCree’s faulty education against him, but she was simply too tired to care. 

“You’re a fucking bitch, Ashe,” McCree said, wounded. She should regret the words, she knew. And yet. She felt as if she was using all of her strength and energy just to keep breathing - and couldn’t bring herself to do more. 

“Been called worse,” she shrugged. “Are you calling me that just because I don’t feel like catering to your every need anymore? Or simply because I don’t give a shit-”

“You made me kill someone I cared for,” he said, gravely. “I don’t think there’s a point of return from there.” 

“Then go,” she said, finally snapping out of it and throwing her cigarette on the ground. “Did you think I didn’t hear Cormac inviting you to a heist? Go, then. If you don’t like how I work then you’re more than welcome to get the  _ fuck  _ out.”

That’s how it would end. 

McCree licked his lips, and glared at her with so much hatred she felt as if she was burning under his gaze - and at least, with the fire, she could feel something. 

“I guess that has been long overdue,” he said, stiffly. “Have a good life, Ashe.” 

“Safe travels,” she said, and when the backdoor hit hard behind him, leaving her all alone in the cold and outside, the twin paths of tears on her cheeks burned as if seared by flaming metal. 

  
  


Their hideout was a warehouse so deep within the desert there wasn’t a single soul around to remind her of what day it was. 

She liked it that way. Years before, that warehouse had been part of a larger industrial complex that was completely decimated by the War. The vegetation had claimed back what was rightfully theirs to keep - vines and trees and bushes crumbling bricks and leftover iron gates rusting and twisting under the weight of time. 

Time was relentless. It shed skin from bones and turned bones into dust, scattered in the wind - there was no coming back to what it once was. She knew that well. She knew her life had had many points of no return, all of which led her to this very moment: sitting alone in a cold warehouse, not a single soul around her to remind her what she already knew. 

It was Christmas. 

Christmas was so painful she couldn’t bear to leave the house, sinking on the couch with a bottle of whiskey and B.O.B by her side. There was no house in sight, no singing people, nothing but uncharacteristic snow on the ground amidst the cacti and the sweetbushes which grow only on dry cracked soil. She said nothing, thought nothing, draining the bottle sip by sip and watching the muted television and its empty channel glow grey and black on her direction. 

Everyone needs a family, she thought absently. And yet here she was, all alone on Christmas Eve, not a single soul to call her own. Or - there was a soul, once. And she left flapping wings to the horizon, finally free and never again to be seen. 

That is to say Ashe doesn’t remember why or how or  _ when _ her sister died. But she had one vivid memory of walking through long hallways in a building made entirely out of glass, and reluctantly opening a door to find Isabelle’s body hanging from a rope in the ceiling. The memory stopped there, as if her own mind couldn’t wrap itself around the horror of what she had witnessed. There were only slips and spots inside her mind - none of which told anything else about her dead sister. Her mother had taken down the pictures in the hallway, and it was like all of her existence had suddenly just-

Vanished. 

Ashe swallowed her grief with more alcohol. She didn’t want to think, but she couldn’t stop either. She wondered if Isabelle felt alone in whatever dark hole she had been buried in, coffin and flesh and bones being eaten away by time. It’d been so long. 

Why couldn’t she remember? 

She had to.

Ashe was suddenly overcome with a single motivation to stand - to spend Christmas with her only family. Maybe it was snowing in Texas, she couldn’t tell. What she could tell was that if she made a run for it, she could maybe put some flowers on her sister’s grave for the first time. But she had to know where it was first… 

“B.O.B,” she said, hoarsely, “I’m gonna call my mother.” 

  
  


It took her seven tries until Ada picked up the phone. 

Her stomach was about to get pierced by its own acid in her nervousness. Outside the warehouse, where there was better reception, Ashe leaned against her bike, huddled in at least two large coats McCree had left behind - they smelled like him and the scent made her eyes water, but she focused on the task ahead. 

“Ada,” her mother answered, Texas drawl bringing even more attention to her nasal voice. It took Ashe two deep breaths and one long sigh before she could answer. 

_ I don’t wanna know _ , a thought appeared in her head. She shivered as the intrusive idea rooted in her brain, sinking its teeth deeply into the marrow of her bones.  _ I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know- _

_ What _ didn’t she want to know?

“Mother,” she said, in lieu of a greeting. Her fingers trembled. There was a pregnant pause from the other side, as if her mother couldn’t quite believe who was calling her on Christmas Eve. 

“Well, won’t you look at that, no wonder it’s snowing,” she said, dryly. Her words were always a suckerpunch on Ashe’s chest - breathing labored, she gripped the leather seat of her bike tightly. “You finally decided to quit being an imbecile and come home?” 

Ashe had no answer to that. In fact, all her years had taught her not engaging on her mother’s petty attacks was probably the best way to deal with her; that and ignoring some good seventy percent of what she said. She got better at it with time, but figured old habits die hard - she would need, of course, to steel herself if she wanted this conversation to be anything near productive. 

_ I don’t want to know, I can’t know, I don’t wanna know, I don’t wanna- _

“I have a question, Mother,” she said, quietly. She could hear Ada clicking her tongue - there was a brown noise of people and movement in the background, which told her the Ashe’s had hosted Christmas once more. 

“Oh good  _ Lord _ , Elizabeth, I don’t have  _ time  _ for your drama right now,” she barked. Ashe fought the urge to curl in hersel, biting her tongue. “You made it very clear you don’t give a  _ damn _ about what your teenage runaway husband will do to this family’s reputation-”

“Ma,” she asked, so softly it might’ve been a whisper - she sighed, gripping the edge of her seat tightly. “Ma, tell me where Isabelle is buried, please. I deser-I deserve to know. Where she is.” 

There was a long pause, a stretch of silence which felt infinite - Ashe bit her lower lip, hoping just this  _ once,  _ just this  _ one _ time, her mother wouldn’t make a game or a bargaining chip out of her misery. 

The sound of footsteps, a door closing, hushed voices. 

“Elizabeth?” Her mother called. Her tone was different - scared, even. Ashe held back a shiver. 

“Tell me, ma,” she pleaded.

_ I don’t wanna know,  _ her brain screeched.

“You weren’t supposed to remember that,” Ada whispered. 

“What?” Ashe asked. 

“How long have you remembered Isabelle?” 

“The fuck you talking about, Ma?” Ashe asked, confused. “I have always remembered Isabelle. She was my sister-”

“She was not,” Ada said, and her voice was so brittle it felt like a thousand shards of glass embedded deep into her heart. Sigh, moan, cough. 

“Ma,” Ashe said, “What are you on about?” 

She could see it then, as a movie unfolding in front of her - Ada leaning on the wall, trying to stabilize the knees ruined by cosmetic surgery. She would rather not move than use the wheelchair she needed. Wheelchairs weren’t perfect, you see, and Ada Ashe would have nothing less than perfect. 

“I guess it’s time I tell you, then,” she said, quietly. “You weren’t supposed to remember that. The doctors said you wouldn’t remember a thing-”

“The  _ doctors _ ?” 

_ You are going to forget, Elizabeth- _

“We paid so much money for this procedure, Elizabeth,” she continued, voice wobbly. “We didn’t want you to remember. They said it would work, and you never mentioned Isabelle again, so we thought-”

“Mama,” Ashe asked, feeling something cold and twisted grip her stomach so tightly she felt the bile climbing up her throat, “What are you talking about?” 

There it was - behold. The moment of no return. Because one split second later, there would be no coming back to what Ashe would become. 

“There was never an Isabelle,” Ada said, quietly. “The psychiatrist said she was a sort of delirium of depersonalization, so you would learn how to deal with the trauma-”

“ _ What?” _

“Do not interrupt me when I am talking, Elizabeth,” Ada said, sternly. Her breath was labored. “There was never an Isabelle. You never had a sister. It was all in your head so you could deal with- It was never your sister, Elizabeth. It was always- It was always you,” she said, finally, and the words were so heavy her knees buckled and her legs gave out under her weight and her arms fell limply by her side and she couldn’t breath she couldn’t breath she couldn’t-

_ I don’t wanna know I don’t wanna know I don’t wanna know I don’t- _

“You were the one who got abused,” her mother sealing her coffin, kissing her goodnight, strangers in her room, the pain, the shame, the morning, her father’s guilty eyes and the pain and the pain-

“No,” she whispered. “Mama, don’t- don’t lie to me like- like that-”

“I told your dad, I said if you couldn’t remember it, it would be like it never happened,” Ada said, breathlessly. “And the company would be safe and he would be safe and we  _ all  _ be fine as long as you didn’t remember and you did as you were told. But you can’t just- you can’t be normal,” she completed, the words tasting bitter and sour in her lips. “How are we supposed to care for a broken thing?” 

Ashe didn’t answer. The hurricane of memories in her mind was as if someone had opened a dam - her phone fell to the ground, and she heard her mother calling out for her, and her torso gave out and she leaned on the frozen desert ground-

_ You have to remember,  _ Isabelle had said. At last, Ashe remembered- 

The door creaked open, a large shadow peeking in, the pain, the fear, Mommy  _ please _ don’t let him-

_ Hello, Elizabeth.  _

At last, Ashe remembered  _ everything _ .

And she  _ howled _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am drunk and it is my birthday
> 
> hope you enjoy this mindfuckery


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have tattoo flu and i'm feeling kinda shit, here's a chapter 
> 
> TW: mental decline, child abuse, substance abuse, angst like you wouldn't believe

_ Always said I was a good kid _

_ Always said I had a way with words _

_ Never knew I could be speechless _

_ Don’t know how I’ll ever break this curse _

 

2066

Angela was a lovely woman - all full curves still perceptible under the lab coat that was probably as much part of her body as her eyes, her guts or her skin by then, pouty lips and golden hair in a ponytail. She was effortless elegant, which meant she had to try really hard to be down to earth, and was the wet dream of 9 out of 10 Overwatch agents. 

Not him, though. He knew better than to meddle with things he couldn’t have. 

“Delicate motor control is still working well?” She asked, taking notes absently on her holopad. 

“I beg your pardon?” He asked, eyeing her confusedly. 

“Motor control?” She said, raising one eyebrow. Sometimes, McCree wondered how did someone like Moira scored someone like Angela. Lost her, later, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Oh,” he said, slapping his forehead with his human hand. “ _ Motor. _ I heard  _ emotion _ , for some goddamn reason.” 

“I don’t ask that at all around here,” she chuckled. “I mean, look - we’re all really just a bunch of fuck ups trying to make something right out of a pile of wrongs.”

She was right, of course, as the docs always often were - Angela, however, wasn’t half as annoying as Moira’s righteousness. But it never failed to surprise him how someone so refined, so elegant, could spit curse words like they were scientific terms. 

“Sure can’t ask  _ me  _ that one, doc,” he shrugged, putting his shirt on as she wrapped up his monthly appointment. His arm prosthesis was better than what she expected, which was far better than what  _ he _ expected. He had half a mind to sear the Deadlock Rebels sign on the metal, but figured Reyes would be annoyed he couldn’t just let go. 

He couldn’t, that’s for sure. But that was his business and he didn’t need Reyes’ meddling more than what he already did. 

“McCree?” she asked, quietly. Her professional tone was gone - she was facing the medbay sterile white wall, fingers gripping her pad tightly as she looked lost in thought. The difference from five seconds prior was so fast and so drastic McCree was sure he got whiplash. 

“Doc?”

“Can I ask you something instead?” She said, looking down. “And you’ll promise you won’t tell anyone?” 

“Well, I can promise to  _ try _ ,” he said, sheepishly. “You know how the Captain is.”

“Oh, I know,” she shook her head, taking in a deep breath. “How is she?” 

“How’s she wh-  _ oh _ ,” He said, a sudden understanding dawning on him as he eyed Angela’s frame, tense as a violin string. It wasn’t  _ Moira  _ who had scored Angela, it was  _ Angela _ who had scored Moira. 

And left her right after getting her heart. 

Angela was a bastard, but so was he - he could relate. 

“She’s- you know,” he said, shrugging. “She’s not  _ happy. _ She just wanders around looking like someone died or whatever. And she’s always in pain, always downing her medication and stuff. We’re getting closer to Venice and she gets more anxious, but I guess that’s normal, I don’t know.”

“Right,” she said, swallowing. “Yeah, I was just- You know. Despite everything, I still wanna know how she is. With her condition and everything, it’s just- I still want to make sure she’s okay.”

A flash of white hair, a crimson-colored smile and eyes as sharp as razors filled with broken-hearted tears. She definitely hated him right now. 

And yet. 

“Yeah,” he said, quietly, and the mood shifted to something heavy and painful with longing, “Yeah, I know.” 

  
  


2059

McCree woke up on Christmas morning with a raging hangover and a pounding migraine. 

His mouth tasted like ashtrays and staircase rails - or, in the very least, like the exhaust fumes of his old-ass car. Cormac had given him so much alcohol he thought it was a miracle he was still alive. 

But he was, to his great disappointment, because goddamn that headache would be enough to kill a man. 

He groaned, rolling around the spare mattress Cormac’s wife had left him in the living room. It took him a minute to realize it was still early morning and that he didn’t wake up out of free will - in fact, there was a very insistent phone call determined to bring him out of his slumber. As he patted around the mess of sheets, pillows and covers around him, he silently cursed himself, for forgetting to turn off his phone, and Ashe, who had no business calling him so early in the morning when he made clear he wanted nothing to do with her. 

When he found out his phone and placed it on his ear, he was already half-expecting to hear Ashe’s drawl. 

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are-”

“Do I speak with Jesse McCree?” Said the voice from the other side. 

A voice who wasn’t Ashe’s. 

McCree sat up on his mattress slowly, rubbing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, “I thought it was someone else. This is him. Or- It’s me?” 

“I’ve been trying to contact you for hours,” she said. Her voice was high pitched and had a different accent than his, but was still very Southern Belle-esque. 

“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t take work phone calls on the Lord’s birthday,” he said, yawning. “Who is this, again?”

“This is Ada Ashe speaking,” she said, cooly. 

“Ada-” it took him three whole moments to realize Ada Ashe was  _ Elizabeth _ Ashe’s mother. 

It took him three other seconds to be able to process the information. 

“I assume Elizabeth has mentioned me,” she continued, oblivious to his stunned silence. “I need to talk to her.”

“Uh, Miss Ashe, I’m not with her,” he said, confused. “I came to a friend for Christmas and she stayed at the house. We’re not exactly on-”

“If you can’t keep tabs on your own  _ girlfriend _ , what use are you?” She shrieked, clearly distraught. McCree thought about correcting his title, but then thought better - Ada sure did sound a lot more worried than what she should have. “I need to find Elizabeth and I need to find her  _ now _ . She called me yesterday asking some  _ really _ inappropriate questions-”

“What do you mean, she called you?” He asked, stunned. 

“This is between me and her,” she said, curtly. “Find her. She- Did not take the answers to her questions well and I know my daughter to be inconsequent when she’s distraught. B.O.B hasn’t answered to my commands in a while now, and-”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he muttered, stretching. “Alright ma’am. I’ll find Elizabeth for you.”

“Don’t take long,” she said, and hung up. 

“Family like that, no wonder Ashe came out the way she did,” he groaned, and searched for his pants behind the christmas tree. 

  
  
  


She wasn’t at the warehouse and she wasn’t where they found Avery either. He didn’t know if Ada’s concerns were rubbing off on him or if he really should be worried about Ashe’s sudden disappearance, but as Christmas drew to a close and the sun began to set on the horizon, cold winds biting into his skin with renewed passion, there was a part of his heart that just- sensed there was something amiss. 

He inhaled the smoke of his cigar, pondering. The lavender bushes around him were as good as dead, unable to deal with the sudden cold. Ashe liked it in there - would pick the stems and place them inside their pillows, saying it’d help them sleep. He never knew why she cared so much, but he only realized the difference it made when she stopped doing it altogether. 

Weird how those things worked, he wondered. Weird how he wanted to punch Ashe for being so goddamn  _ evil _ , but remembering the lilac flowers inside his pillow made his heart ache in ways he could not control. 

B.O.B wouldn’t answer a thing. He tried to reason - say he was worried, that she couldn’t leave without at least telling him  _ where _ she was going, that he must have a way to know where she was hiding, but all the Omnic did was shrug. If she wasn’t in danger, B.O.B didn’t see a reason to care.

He was about to head inside and all but demand answers from B.O.B when his phone rang - it was Officer Reynolds, the one cop Ashe paid off for their safety in the city. 

“Officer,” he said, curtly. “How can I help you?” 

“I think today, I can help you,” he answered. “We found Miss O’Hara passed out in the city. Public intoxication. She’s here at the Office, if you wanna pick her up.”

  
  
  


His anger grew tenfold when he saw Ashe passed out in a cell, using her jacket as a blanket and drooling on the metal of the bed. 

“She was near the bar,” Reynold said. “I said, is that Miss O’Hara? And then I saw the hair-”

“Yeah, I got it, Officer, thanks,” he muttered, pulling Ashe into his arms and throwing her over his shoulder. Ashe was a tall woman, but he was taller - and yet, it felt like he was dragging a bag of potatoes over his shoulder. She used to be heavier.

Many things had changed in a short span of time. So fast, he almost felt dizzy. 

Ashe mumbled something behind him - he paused to listen, but felt something warm dripping down his pants as she vomited whatever was left in her stomach over his jeans. 

McCree really,  _ really  _ needed a drink. 

  
  


He sat her down on the bathtub, trying not to gag at the sight of her ruined clothes. She had vomited and drooled all over herself - the moisture and the dirt of the desert ground coming together to form a thick crust of nastiness and disgusting debris, and he breathed through his mouth not to gag at the smell. 

“I should’ve left you in that fucking cell until you could come out on your own,” he cursed, turning on the shower and letting the stream fall on her jeans and boots. The water was warm - rare commodity, and one that cost Ashe a pretty penny with gas heating for am old ass warehouse. McCree gripped the edge of Ashe’s shirt, trying to pull it over her head-

A flash of pain, a  _ howl,  _ and his vision was tinted red. 

It took him a few deep breaths to realize Ashe had punched him in the face. 

“Ashe, what the- Whoa!” He said, narrowly dodging another blow to the face and holding Ashe’s wrists tightly. 

She wasn’t seeing him. Her eyes were empty and without focus, looking to something he couldn’t see what was - it was inside her head, in a place he couldn’t reach, with people he couldn’t see. She struggled against his hold, twisting her own wrists so hard he had half a mind to worry about them breaking, and tears flowed down her eyes. 

“No,” she babbled, pulling away from him, “No, no no no no, I don’t want anymore, Mommy. Mommy it  _ hurts, _ I dont want to- Mommy don’t let him come. Please. Please-”

“Ashe, what is going on-”

It was so fast he didn’t know what to process. One second, there was a door on the bathroom - the next, there was an empty space and a B.O.B with a gun pointed straight to his face-

“Whoa, B.O.B, the fuck you doing-?” 

_ “Analyzing, _ ” he answered- it was the first time he heard him speak. He had a metallic baritone that was soothing and commanding at the same time. “ _ Person. Jesse McCree. Physical contact allowed by: Elizabeth. Ashe. Disengage. _ ” 

He then sat down on the floor, as if keeping guard - and as if on cue, the struggle against his hands subsided, and Ashe fell limply on the tiles of the tub wall. Her eyes were dead to the world - it was the quietest and stillest he had ever seen, making her look like a decadent relecture of a classic statue. The straight angle of her nose. The alabaster of her skin, in a pool of her own filth as the water struggled to carry the brunt of the grime and dirt. 

“Jesse,” she called, quietly. “Kill me.”

His mother on the bed, howling over the darkness, clawing on her sheets, a threadbare thing, picking at the holes and turning them into rips and the screams, and the screams, and Jesse, kill me, Jesse kill me, Jesse kill me-

“What the fuck did you say, Ashe?” he asked, hoarsely. His hands trembled, his eyes shook, and he gripped her wrists tighter as if to ground himself. 

“I can’t survive this,” she whispered, “And I know you want to. After what I did to Natalie, I know you do. Let me be selfish just this once, and just-”

“Ashe,” he said, taken aback. There were twin paths of tears on her cheeks that couldn’t stop flowing, her hair a mess over her shoulders, the makeup running down her face the textbook definition of anguish and despair. She held to his hands tightly, looked him in the eye - he took a sharp breath, wincing in pain at his throbbing nose, and decided right then and right there he had never seen so much pain inside a single person ever. 

Not even in his Mother’s blank eyes 

He shivered, and she cried, leaning back on the cold tiles on the wall. Each sob that crawled out of her throat was another layer of desperation on his heart - he was angry, concerned, hurt, sad, and desperate all at once. 

“Ashe,” he called once more, softly. “Liz,” he tried, and she took a shuddering breath through her tears. He squeezed her wrist. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“She lied to me,” she mumbled. The water pooling around her in the tub was filthy, and he reached over to pull the plug and let it all wash away. 

“Ada?”

“Yes,” she answered, shaking her head. “She lied to me. There was never a sister, Jesse. It was always- All those hideous things I witnessed. That was all me. That was-”

“What the fuck,” he whispered, widening his eyes. “What do you mean, Ashe?” 

In the future, when the people at Overwatch would file his mental health report, they always ask what was the most defining moment in his life. He would always say meeting Reyes, and they’d be satisfied; it was a defining moment alright, but it wasn’t the one that shifted his entire worldview out of place. 

If he were to be honest, this was it. This was the moment. The moment where he realized he was the spoiled one in that relationship - the one moment where the world on Atlas’ shoulders became tangible, visible, telling him that he abandoned her in her suffering to chase after someone who only wanted her head. He remembered Natalie’s blubbering on the desert ground, the loud noise of the Peacekeeper making amends, the roar of his bike and the feel of his tears. He remembered lavenders in his pillow and careful stitches in a motel room, patching up his own stupidity. 

“I made Isabelle up,” she croaked, as the truth set heavily around them, tightening his lungs. “When I was a kid. To cope with the fact I was being- I was the one- It was me,” she said, finally. The tears didn’t stop. “It was me all along, and I dissociated so hard, I made up a sister. My mother thought the best way to solve it was making me forget. So she paid up a procedure-”

“No  _ fucking  _ way-”

“And it’s all scrambled eggs here now, and it didn’t work,” she sobbed, hand over her mouth to keep the noise to a minimum. “It didn’t work, because I had  _ dreams _ , and they were  _ hideous _ , and Isabelle kept telling me to remember and remember and I wanted to know where she was buried and I couldn’t talk about it and I call my mother and she told me- and now- and she told me and now I remember every- everything-”

“Liz,” he called, feeling his own voice wobbly. He ignored the disgust, toeing off his boots and stepping into the bathtub with her, pulling her closer to cradle her on his chest. Each sob felt more painful than the last, and the water was warm over him, and he ran his hands over her hair delicately as it dawned on him - the nightmares. The restlessness. The gut feeling, the lack of trust, the inability to process her own feelings without being aggressive. She might not remember, but her body did - wasting itself day after day as she was consumed by her demons under his eyes-

And he couldn’t see it. 

Ashe would kill and die for him, and he couldn’t see the obvious cries for help, too absorbed on what he imagined was the only tragedy in the room - his own life. The feeling of guilt was so intense he gripped her tighter, tears dropping down his face too. He was so self absorbed in his own misery, he couldn’t see her silent pleas for help. He ignored it when he could. And yet she kept his finances and bought his clothes and his lactose free food and kept stock of his lactaids and cared for him in the big things and in the small things, even serving as a human bait for them to take down the target on his back- 

McCree had failed her in every possible way, and yet here she was, burrowing on his chest desperate to feel as if there’s some sort of compassion for her in this world. 

It  _ hurt _ . 

“Liz,” he mumbled into her hair. It was soaking wet, just as he was, and he rubbed circles on the small of her back, humming. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, the epiphany too painful for him to bear. He had been nothing short of ungrateful. 

And yet, he was the one Ashe trusted the most. 

He didn’t deserve it. 

“Liz,” he said once more, “Liz, I’m so sorry. I’m so- so sorry I left you-”

“I was wrong,” she sobbed. “I was  _ angry _ that you were- you were more concerned about  _ Natalie _ than you were with me-”

“I ain’t good with life, Liz,” he whispered. “I just fuck up plenty hoping someone will pick up the pieces. And here you are, and you picked all of them, baby girl,” he said, and she trembled hearing the nickname roll off his tongue once more. She felt so small against him, so fragile, so unlike the fortress he came to know as Ashe. And he noticed what a privilege it was, to be able to see her like this, at her most vulnerable - as if she was handing her heart on a silver platter, and it was made out of crystal and china so delicate, a breath might break it. 

It was too overwhelming to think. 

“You picked them all,” he repeated. “And now I’m here to pick you up too.”

“You left,” she croaked. 

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easily,” he said, “Let me help you. Let me help you be strong enough. Let me be strong enough for you.” 

She cried, but she nodded, and he held her close, watching the water take away more than just grime, dirt and dust. 

  
  


It took them a while to get out of the bathroom, get cleaned and get dry. He wanted to give her some privacy, but also didn’t want to stay away - he turned away, facing the wall as she showered and giving back her towel without sparing her a glance. He also picked a shirt and a pair of sweatpants that looked worn and comfortable enough to sleep in, which she took without any comments. She was very quiet, silently doing what he coaxed her to do. 

As she laid down in bed, wrapped around blankets, she finally had the strength to say something. 

“Jesse, I-” she frowned, biting her lip, and burrowing even further in her blankets. “Nevermind.”

“Liz, please,” he said. “Please.”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted. Her voice was hoarse and nasal from all her crying, eyes so red it looked as if she had received two red lipstick marks on her eyelids. “I just- I don’t wanna be alone. So I thought- But it’s stupid, so it doesn’t-”

“Would it help if I got my cot over here?” 

She closed her eyes as if the words physically hurt her - he raised his hand, apologetically. 

“You don’t have to sleep here,” she said. “I’m gonna- It’s gonna be shit sleeping with  _ me _ anyhow.” 

_ As if I could sleep after what I just witnessed,  _ he thought. Ashe shivered so much even under her covers he had half a mind to wonder if she wasn’t feverish - he brought a hand to her forehead, and she whimpered, leaning closer. 

She was ice cold, nearly freezing, and he barely thought before lifting the edge of the blanket and squeezing himself on her small bed. 

“Shit. Can I do this?” he asked, half a leg in the bed, half outside. “I mean, would it- Is it cool? For you?” 

“I should say no,” she said, quietly. “But I- honestly. Please. I’m  _ cold _ .” 

As magnets are drawn to one another, Ashe’s body wrapped around him so tightly he wondered if they were two puzzle pieces separated at birth. She shivered, lower lip trembling, and his hand found the back of her neck, drawing circles on her nape with his thumb. She sighed contently, wrapping her cold arms around his waist and digging her popsicle fingers under his shirt, but he couldn’t find it in him to complain. 

He wondered when was the last time she had any sort of comfort. Her heartbeat was steady, their breathing the only sound in the room, and she melted like butter around him - he knew people could get seriously fucked up without physical contact, he just never thought-

He never thought Ashe was one of them. 

Her head was tucked under his chin. She’d still need to take a better shower in the morning, but her hair smelled like lavenders and smoke, something so inherently Ashe he figured it was the only thing that made the warehouse feel like home. She sighed. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked - she shrugged in lieu of an answer, which he took as a yes. “Isn’t this- I don’t know. A bit too much for you?”

Silence, pause, swallow. 

“No,” she said, quietly. “At least not right now. It just feels- nice. To trust someone. To get- To feel like-”

“It’s okay,” he said, because he knew what she meant - it was nice to be touched by someone she trusted so much, she wasn’t afraid. Here she was, all this time, a gaping wound desperate for affection and love and yet too jagged to ask for it. Here she was, quietly asking for help, giving him the key to her soul and yet he insisted in judging the book for its cover. There would be no going back and fixing his absolute stupidity. But he could do something now - and feeling Ashe in his arms, goosebumps raising the hairs on her skin, cold fingers digging for support on the skin of his back, he knew what it was. 

If she was a warship, he would be a lighthouse. 

Set your sails down, put down your anchor. Let me guide you away from the stormy sea and point you to the safest shore _. _

“It’s okay,” he said once more, and felt her tears wetting his shirt, running his hands through white strands of hair while she sobbed quietly, unable to deal with all her pain. It was okay because it would be okay - it had to be, eventually. 

He owed her as much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on discord if you wanna punch me lazy_universes#6315
> 
> the next few weeks will be hell on earth for me but I promise to post as soon as i have the time <3


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bar exam tomorrow and i'm posting because my soul has left my body
> 
> enjoy the feelz

_ Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here _

_ Even if it takes all night or a hundred years _

_ Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near _

_ Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear _

  
  


The lavenders were dead and covered by snow. 

Ashe kicked one brittle bush, sipping on her coffee. With the cold and her inability to take care of herself, let alone anything else in her life, the poor resilient flowers succumbed anyhow - even if they were supposed to withstand heat and cold. Even the most resistant of things cannot handle being cast aside and uncared for, she figured, which was as good as an analogy as any. 

She shivered, watching the sun rising on the horizon. She couldn’t sleep, skin too tight on her flesh, as if it was possible to crawl out of it. Waking McCree up felt like a waste of time, since there was nothing else he could do to ease the malaise turning her stomach inside out. He tried, poor thing. Brewed teas and cooked her food for the past few days, and all she could do was nod without thanking, unable to voice any words besides the strictly necessary. Silence was a heavy burden to carry. 

But she was Atlas. She didn’t know how to let go. 

The back door creaked open, and McCree poked his head out, bleary eyed and clearly only half awake. 

“Mornin’”, he said, yawning. “You made a pot?” 

She nodded, and he scratched his head, heading back inside. She sipped on her own coffee a bit more, feeling her chapped lips protest at the sudden warmth - it burned and ached as if to remind her that her body was still here, still working. 

It didn’t feel like it, for sure. But she could at least pretend. 

It was funny, she pondered, stepping on a bush and hearing the sound of the dead leaves breaking under her boots. She had been getting many memories back - some good, most bad, a few random, if irrelevant. One of those was a kindergarten teacher softly correcting her misused vocabulary - quiet is not the same as empty, she said. A room can be full and quiet, or empty and noisy. Even if a  _ quiet _ classroom was an  _ empty _ classroom, it was still not the same. 

And look at her now, so many years later, finally getting what it meant - outside it was quiet, snowfall and dead leaves creaking softly silencing the very crowded outside world. 

Inside her chest, however, the emptiness was deafening. 

  
  


It was difficult facing the mirror - she didn’t really want to look at herself, or even acknowledge the skin she wanted to crawl out of. 

And yet there it was - she cursed her own megalomania, covering nearly half a wall with a mirror so big every pore on her face was exposed to the world to see. It was great when she was putting on makeup in the morning, but not much so when her own pale face was staring back at her with sunken eyes, like a ghost in the flesh. 

Ashe eyed herself closely, then. The deadly pale skin, white lashes and pale eyebrows, almost blending with her forehead. Bony shoulders, the tattoos crawling up her right arm, scars fanning out on her left shoulder as a stark reminder she wasn’t immune to being shot either. She raised her rands - long fingers, chipped nail polish, nails broken so deeply some of her fingers ached in protest. Her skin was soft to the touch. She traced the outline of her cheekbones with the pads of her fingers, eyeing her reflection do the same. 

It was her, she knew, but she couldn’t recognize who that person was. Her nose was off, her skin too white. Ashe raised a hand and felt a shiver running down her spine when her reflection did the same. Was this what was left of her, then? This makeshift human, bones sticking out from beneath the dull skin, eyes so sunken she looked as if she had forgotten to drop dead, and she thought there wasn’t a single cell left in her body she wanted to look at. Her flesh felt like a prison, her own breathing burned and poisoned, her bones weighting a thousand pounds and she just wanted-

She just wanted-

She just-

She wanted to be  _ done- _

It was so fast she didn’t even feel it - it took a moment for her to notice the shattered mirror, her own wounded hand and the deep red of the blood staining the milky expanse of her naked body. A rational part of her mind chastised herself for punching the everliving shit out of such an expensive mirror, but the sudden pain and the stark red and the glass shards buried deep within her muscles brought tears to her eyes and she just-

It was as if a dam had broken, or as if the ocean decided to claim back the land it was stolen - in a split second, all she couldn’t feel came crashing down her spine, and her knees buckled and she fell to the floor right on top of all of the million shards and they buried deep into her skin and she couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t-

She couldn’t-

“Ashe is everything alright- Holy fuckin’- shit!” McCree said, busting the door open. Her vision darkened at the edges as she cradled her bleeding hand to her chest, feeling tears staining down her face. It was miserable. It was miserable he would see her like this, and it was miserable she would be like this to begin with - she hated every minute of it, but couldn’t do much besides shaking and crying and begging the skies to take her and just-

He picked a towel from the rack, wrapped it around her body. His hands were steady net around her crumbling self, picking her up as carefully as if she would break with the slightest breeze. She did feel like it. She cried without meaning too, even as the feeling of his lips on her scalp should feel soothing. But her hands were bleeding on her bruised knees and her heart hurt so much she wondered if it could refuse to beat anymore out of pure heartbreak. 

She wished it would be so. 

  
  


“What happened in there, Liz?” He asked, quietly pulling the shards out of her hand with a tweezer. He didn’t look up, but she could see it - the deep crease between his eyes, a telltale sign of his concern. 

She shrugged with her free shoulder, watching him work on her knuckles. Each piece of glass he pulled burned and hurt as if it was a new wound, a stark reminded she was still alive. Maybe that’s what pain was good for, she wondered. To remind her that her heart was still beating and even through the haze of numbness and apathy, she could feel something.

Of course, she couldn’t explain  _ that _ to McCree. 

She couldn’t explain much, anyhow. The past few days had been filled with brown noise coming from the TV they never turned off, or McCree’s one sided rambling. She spoke very little, and moved even less - from the bedroom to the bathroom and from the bathroom to the living room, where she curled up on the couch watching without seeing whatever bullshit was on the T.V. Sometimes McCree would sit by her side, and she would let him run his fingers through her hair until the sleep deprivation caught up with her and she drifted off to sleep, only to wake up half an hour later with his fingers dragging her out of whatever nightmare she had fallen into. He was tired, she could see. She could barely sleep, but figured there was something soothing in tracing the moles on his back with her fingers, tracing shapes as if they were constellations. A sword, a dog, a flower, a cross. They looked like her own personal galaxy, and she had always been a sucker for the stars. 

And yet she felt as if she owed him. Even a little token of gratitude. 

She eyed him working diligently. There was a snowstorm raging outside and B.O.B was content to hover around, watching McCree carefully as he cleaned her hands and soaked himself in blood. She wondered when did her butler start trusting him so much - maybe it was the same time she did. 

“I don’t want your pity,” she said, bluntly. 

McCree raised his eyes, arching one eyebrow. It sounded very ungrateful, which wasn’t her intention at all - words were difficult to come by. But she could see him pondering, wheels turning inside his head to figure whether it was a threat or just a lack of proper human interaction skills. 

“Never said I would, baby girl,” he muttered, looking back to her bloody palm. “Care to explain?” 

“I just-” she said, taking in a deep breath. “I don’t want you to think this is- all.”

“All?”

“All I am,” she insisted. Her hand hurt, her knees ached and every piece of skin touching McCree’s body felt as if on fire. 

“I’d never,” he said, quietly. “But do you?” 

“Hm?” 

“Think that’s all you are?” 

She didn’t answer, caught off-guard by the question. He sighed and soaked a piece of cotton in antiseptic, cleaning off her palm in search of shards that were too small to notice the first time. 

“I mean, I can’t- I know it’s not about me,” he said.”But I can’t help but feel angry about it. That you are  _ you _ and suddenly you’re thrown in front of the bus-”

“What do you mean, I am me?” 

“ _ You _ ,” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain. You’re a fortress and you’re strong and you’re a damn good gangster, and I ain’t used to seeing you like-”

“Broken?” She said, bitterly. “Useless?”

“I was going with  _ hurt _ , to be honest,” he answered, dryly. “I guess you can call it pity, maybe. Because it’s fucking  _ awful _ seeing you like this.” 

“It’s fucking awful being like this too,” she answered. The cotton in his hand was a deep pink. 

“I  _ know, _ ” he said, raising his eyes. “I don’t wanna- We gotta learn how to talk to each other, Liz. I know it ain’t about me. But I don’t like seeing you  _ hurt _ either. When people you love are hurt, you get hurt too.That’s just how life goes.”

_ People you love _ , it resonated in her head. She felt her cheeks and ears burning, but not quite happiness crawled up her throat. She never really  _ loved _ anyone - the suffering of those around her had either been irrelevant or even sometimes welcomed. 

Of course, that was until McCree showed up.

She made an effort to put herself on his shoes and found out it would break her heart in a million pieces if she ever saw McCree in the same way she was right then.

“I never- I don’t know what it is,” she said, quietly. “To have someone taking care of me.”

“Figured as much, baby girl,” he said, throwing the ruined cotton on the trash. “Feeling any more glass?” 

“It just hurts now,” she said, which was good enough an answer - he raised her calves and put her feet on his lap so he could clean her knees also. 

“I know you don’t like people telling you what to do,” he said. “But sometimes you just gotta let people take care of you too. And you can call that pity or whatever, as long as you let me care about that thick skull of yours, goddamn it.”

She smiled - something small, barely a twitch of her lips, but there all the same. He lit up like a christmas tree, giving her a smile so wide it could power the whole of Arizona. 

She loved him so much it hurt. 

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded because they both knew it was real and it was true. 

  
  


For the first time in a while, she did not wake up trying to claw her way out of her nightmares. 

“Come on, B.O.B, you can sure give me a han-  _ ow _ , shit!” 

The sound from outside the house was suspicious, but not alarming - she got up and walked quietly to the backdoor, to see-

McCree digging holes where her lavender bushes were. 

“The fuck you doing, Jesse?” She asked as she opened the door slightly. It was cold outside and she was wearing the same flannel and sweatpants she had slept in. 

“Ah, shit, I woke you, hey,” McCree said, leaning on his shovel. Piles of dead leaves and branches were discarded in a haphazardly pile in the corner, and B.O.B sat by the door, steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He didn’t need coffee, but McCree needed someone to hold his for him - which just made the most interesting scenario. 

“Hey,” she said. “Care to answer?”

“Ah, you see,” he said. “The lavenders were dead, don’t know if you noticed-”

“My eyes are fake but they still work, Jesse,” she said, raising an eyebrow. He rubbed his nape shyly. 

“Yeah,” he said, sheepishly. “Look, I just want to plant them again for you.”

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, bluntly. He eyed her with his big round eyes, as a dog begging for praise. She didn’t want to be pleased. She wanted a friend. 

“Because you like them?” 

“No, Jesse,” she sighed, sitting by B.O.B’s side and taking his coffee. It was so sweet she felt her tongue cringing in protest. “This is- Look, I appreciate it. What you’re doing. It’s just-”

“Just?” 

“Unlike you,” she said, looking at the ground. It was obvious why he couldn’t dig anything worthwhile - the soil was frozen. “It’s like- I don’t know. Weird. Having you like-”

“Yeah,” he said. It was a big ass shovel, the one he had. “Can I be honest?” 

She shrugged. 

“It’s not- It’s not natural,” he said, quietly. “It’s not like- You just look at us and you know what needs to be done. I don’t. I reckon I fucked up all this time too, just letting you take the reigns and not really caring about shit. And don’t take me the wrong way, but it’s- Well. I’m tired.”

“I know,” she said. Of course he would. Dealing with her bullshit wasn’t easy even on herself, and she had to deal with it every day.”When I said you could leave, I meant it.” 

“I know,” he sighed. “I know, baby girl. And I’m not gonna lie, sometimes when you’re- at night,” he said, looking up. There were tears pooling in his eyes, red-rimmed lids framing dark brown irises. “When you’re- you know. I’m not  _ proud _ of this, but sometimes I think- I could just leave, you know? I know I could. But then I tell myself I’m being a fucking  _ asshole _ , and I stay. And I will stay,” he eyed her, dead serious and gaze so warm she felt herself burning. “As long as I can, I will stay.” 

She said nothing, staring at the coffee without being able to unravel the complicated thread of feelings inside her chest. She didn’t know what to think. But there they were then - in pajamas, outside the house, trying to plant lavenders where the previous ones had died, right atop their tombs. And she decided right then that the effort was more than enough. 

“If you build a greenhouse, I can plant the lavenders in the spring,” she said, quietly. He threw the shovel on the floor, raising his arms.”

“Oh thank  _ God _ ,” he said, “Really, I can do a greenhouse, but not the green stuff inside the greenhouse. Goddamn it. Where’s my coffee- really, Liz? You really had to drink all of it?”

  
  
  


“Why are we taking the truck?” 

“I’m sorry, can your bike become a portable mattress?” He answered, dryly. There was a shrunken head hanging from the rearview mirror, which looked a whole lot like that one Harry Potter movie with the three-story bus. McCree was as much as a reckless driver as the one in the movie, but there wasn’t much room to be reckless when there wasn’t a single soul outside. Not only it was cold, they only had one hour to go until the new year - no one would be out and about in the roads of Arizona. 

No one except them, at least. 

“Bed,” she said. “Portable bed.” 

“Potato, potahto,” he said, shrugging. “Not the point.” 

The radio hummed absently a song from ages before - _ I stood alone upon the platform in vain, the puerto ricans they were playing the salsa in the rain _ , it sang, and she looked outside to the moonless sky and the stars gleaming on the fabric of the dark night. 

“Where are we going?” She asked. 

“Surprise,” he said, quietly, drumming on the steering wheel in tune with the music.  _ I headed west, I was a man on the move, New York had lied to me, I needed the truth _ . He looked lovely with only the car lights illuminating the dips and crevices of his face. Sharp jaw, angled nose, hair thrown back carelessly, serape over his coat like a stupid-ass cowboy stereotype, and she loved him dearly. It felt good to feel something other than pain. Or - a different kind of pain. One that didn’t felt as stab wounds to the heart, but a deep aching longing for something she never had. 

She said nothing, leaning back into her seat. Thirty minutes to midnight. He put his right hand over the shared armrest of the cabin, an invitation - and she decided not to think much of it when she took it. 

Turn left, follow the road. Stop. 

“We’re here,” he said, and she looked to the right-

It wasn’t the Grand Canyon. But it was a Canyon alright - completely covered by snow and ice, only the stars and the trail of the milky way as illumination. McCree parked the truck, opened the back end as she made her way out of the car, eyes stuck to the scene in front of her. The hollow ground, the wide sky, the same stars that have watched time carving out the depression in the desert watching over her then. 

“Told ya you’d like a bed,” She heard him saying behind her - the back of the truck had been turned into a makeshift bed, even her pillows included. She eyed him and the canyon and the stars and felt something like gratitude clawing up her throat, tightening up and stopping her from saying anything else. 

He helped her climb up the truck - and laid down with her just as they had been doing for that entire week, spoon ladled into spoon, like missing pieces of a puzzle she never knew existed in the first place. 

“Happy new year, baby girl,” he whispered into her hair, and she held him so tight, something inside her chest told her she had found her own personal lifeline. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was brought to my attention people can only message me on discord if we're friends first - no problem adding me! you can also hmu on twitter @lazyuniverses :)


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who is not dead
> 
> can't say for sure it ain't me tho
> 
> TW: CHILD ABUSE, be warned, the exposition and discussions of it are HEAVY in this one

_ My baby never fret none _

_ About what my hands and my body done _

_ If the lord don't forgive me _

_ I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me _

 

“You sure it’s alright, boss?” 

She twirled her ponytail around her index finger, pretending to be deep in thought about the spreadsheets she was analyzing. Or - pretending to be analyzing, as it was. There was so much noise outside as McCree and Terran struggled to put up the greenhouse she might as well need earplugs to get any work done. P.T bit his lower lip as he waited for an answer, and she thought it was something else that even though he was sure he shouldn’t be saying anything, he still cared enough to risk it. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I got sick over Christmas and he had to come and help me. We kinda talked it out.” 

“You never get sick,” he said, simply. 

“Well, I’m not a cyborg and I’m not B.O.B,” she shrugged. “I can get a flu every now and then.” 

“Right,” he said, not willing to contradict her but not really believing what she said. Ashe felt the tips of her ears burning, as if she was caught red-handed stealing a cookie from the jar. And yet the secrecy of it felt dreamy, giddy even - hidden in plain sight, the soft touches McCree would place around her skin as if to remind her she could still feel and she wasn’t broken made a whole lot of sense to her, but not necessarily to the people on the sidelines. Especially not for the triplets, who left a broken home and came back to-

To something. 

She swallowed. She didn’t know  _ what _ it was, and didn’t want to get her hopes up. After all, McCree was helping her out; to say she was in a rough spot would be the understatement of the year that had barely begun. She didn’t want to mistake  _ kindness _ for  _ love _ . It would be her downfall, and she knew that as much as she knew the freckles on his back, the ones she counted when she couldn’t sleep. But it was so difficult to stand her ground when she felt his lips on her scalp, his fingers on her nape, letting her wrap around his body for safety and warmth after years of cold. It was so difficult not to think of love then, when she felt the most cared for. 

Maybe that was his cruelty, she pondered. To dangle love in front of her, knowing she would never be brave enough to catch it. 

“So you two, now?” P.T asked. 

“There’s no two of us, P.T,” she answered, dryly. 

“Alright then, boss,” he said, raising his hands and getting up from his seat. “If you keep up not being the two of you for a month or so, I’ll win the bet. Will share with you too.” 

“What the- Bet?!” She shrieked, but P.T was already long beyond her immediate reach. 

  
  


“It’s not  _ that  _ bad.” 

“It isn’t,” she said, hands curled around his hips. Winter was cold and his skin was warm, and he never complained about her popsicle fingers. “But it isn’t  _ pretty _ .” 

“Look, I’m no Bob the Builder, alright?” He quipped, yawning. “Your lavenders will have a roof now come spring. My job is done.” 

“Your job is, indeed, done,” she snickered. It was something nearly miraculous, that she got to tuck her head under his chin. His beard scratched her scalp, but it felt nice. It just all felt nice - to be able to find a place to rest her bones inside someone’s arms. Something in the back of her mind kept reminding her she wasn’t supposed to settle, too much of a nomad to put down roots. And yet she wanted to root all over his body, mistaking the color of his skin for the earth to nourish her flowers. Lavenders, forget-me-nots, roses and tulips, all growing from the softer parts of him where she dug her fingers at night. It was lovely. 

It wouldn’t last. Spring is over, come summer; summer’s done, come fall, and in the end december will always come, bringing the end as surely as the sun will set on the horizon. Things will always die, that’s the point, and she tried not to get too worked up about it because to die means to have lived. That is why she didn’t really want to die - to be fair, she wished she hadn’t been born at all. 

“What are you gonna do?” he asked, quietly, as if reading her very thoughts. “Come spring.”

_ I want to bloom _ , she didn’t say. He was used to her long stretches of silence by then, and didn’t press the question until she felt as if she had something coherent to say. 

“Maybe I want to see my mother,” she said, quietly. He didn’t answer right away, fingers untangling her hair. 

“Okay,” he said. “I don’t get it, but okay. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I feel like- I don’t know. I think I want to burn that bridge for good.”

“If you’ll let me have a few words with her before you set off, fine,” he said. She giggled. 

“What, are you going to have some  _ stern _ words with Ada Ashe?” 

“Oh yes,” he said, smiling. “I’m gonna write her many strongly worded letters.” 

“Dear Mrs. Ashe, I am appalled by the outrageously behavior you’ve displayed towards your only child…” 

“Yeah, no, fuck that,” he said. “I’m just gonna tell her to shove a cactus up her ass so the look on her face at least will have a fucking reason. No offense,” he added. 

“None taken,” she shrugged. “Is this all because she lied to me?” 

“Excuse me, I think that’s a pretty good reason to hate someone,” he answered. “I mean, look Liz, it’s not like she told you the tooth fairy was having biscuits with Santa discussing the shitty state of your baby teeth, okay? That’s some serious fucked up shit. She burned you to save her lifestyle, and you were a fucking  _ kid _ . There’s nothing worth salvaging in there, unless you’re hiding some redeeming quality up in your head.”

“There’s none I can think of,” she said, dryly. 

“Are you bothered that I don’t like your ma?” 

“Not really.” 

“Then let a man hate in peace,” he said, sighing. She felt his heart beating against her cheek, and pondered. 

“I’m afraid I’m just like her,” she whispered. His breath hitched, and he pinched her chin to tip her head back so he could look her in the eyes - so close, she could see the lines on his lips, illuminated by moonlight, and the way the shadows danced around his eyes. She took a deep breath, shivering. “I’m afraid I can’t let go of the parts of her that made me me. I can’t shake her off. I hate every cell of my body for carrying her with me.” 

“You’re your own beast, Liz,” he said, sternly. “You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, not gonna lie-”

“Thank you, McCree,” she said, dryly. 

“But you’re your own,” he said, cupping her cheeks and kissing her forehead. Her heart flipped in itself in her chest. “You’re your own, and you don’t owe her shit.” 

“Yeah,” she said, not bearing to look into his eyes any longer, “Yeah, I don’t owe her shit.” 

  
  
  


“Liz?” 

“Hm?” 

“You dealing with suits again?” McCree asked, leaning on the bathroom door. He had installed a new mirror, albeit a smaller one - she was half a lip into her lipstick when she made a sound that could mean anything from  _ yes _ to  _ what _ and to  _ of course, you dumbwit. _ “Oh yeah, got it. Thank you for the great answer.” 

“Don’t be a dick,” she said, as soon as she was finished with the last curve of her upper lip. “This shit’s terrible to remove if I get it wrong. What’s now?” 

“There’s a suit outside,” he said. “Very fancy car. Apparently didn’t know this was the desert, came in a convertible.” 

She snickered, shoving all of her makeup in her makeup bag and putting it in the cabinet under the sink. “Dumb move.”

“As rich as that one looks, he can be as dumb as he wants,” he said, shrugging. She arched an eyebrow at his annoyed tone. 

“What’s with you now?” she asked. 

“Didn’t know you’d be trading with suits again,” he said, begrudgingly. 

“I never stopped, you just never saw them,” she said. “Thank me when you see your savings account. That money’s so clean you can smell the fabric softener.”

“Ha fucking  _ ha, _ ” he said, rolling his eyes. “He’s outside. You need me?” 

“It’s just investments, but if you want to,” she said. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and shoving his hands in his pockets as he followed her around the warehouse. It was the first time in weeks she had put on her normal clothes, instead of the flannels and sweatpants and washed out look she had been sporting for the past weeks. January crawled to an end, each day softly better than the last. Slowly the days had been getting more like what they used to. 

The nights, she thought, would never again be the same. 

She opened the front door, ready to welcome her day’s meeting inside-

His hair was gray now, but she would recognize those eyes any fucking where. 

“Hey there, Bess,” her father said, waving a head. “Glad you could make it.” 

  
  


Her hands shook around the cup of tea McCree handed her, wordlessly sitting by her side and squeezing her knee in reassurance. Usually she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about what the stock traders thought of her house - she paid them well enough anyways. But she found herself nervously looking around, to the rotting cactus and the worn wooden floors she hadn’t bothered giving a good scrub in ages, tucking her hair nervously behind her ears. 

“I know this is unexpected-” he began. 

“I don’t fucking  _ like  _ when people lie to me, Anthony,” she spit, nervously, refusing to call him  _ father _ as a last stand to her pride. “I thought I has having a trader over-” 

“And I am a trader, so there’s not really a lie there,” he said, sipping his own tea. “I apologize, however, for the deception. I didn’t know if you would like to see me after- you know.” 

“Ada told you.” 

“She didn’t have to,” he shrugged. “Found her passed out on vicodin inside a bathtub, so I sensed something was very off, and then I saw her phone and that she had been calling to you for a whole month straight-”

“Is she dead?” She asked, freezing. She didn’t  _ like _ Ada. But to know she had died-

“No,” he shook his head. “It was empty. She was just trying to call you from the bathtub. Why, I don’t know-”

“I’m not picking up,” Ashe stated, simply. “In fact, I blocked her altogether. Unfortunately she is still legally and genetically my mother, but I can at least pretend she doesn’t exist.” 

“That’s not very fair,” he said. “She did-”

“Did you come here for this, really?” Ashe spat, setting her tea down on the coffee table so hard she saw McCree’s eyes widening towards the china. It was fake, it could break. “To try to make amends for my mother? Because if that’s it, thanks, but no, thanks. I’ve had it with the both of you.” 

There was a stretch of silence, a pregnant pause-

“You’re right,” he sighed. His crow’s feet were deep creases on his pale skin, like river valleys in the earth. He looked old and tired, even though he still stood tall, well-dressed, broad shoulders filling his perfectly fitted suit. She wondered if she would age like this too, or how much of him she would carry in her as she aged. As of that moment, it felt as if she carried too much and yet nothing at all. 

“You’re right,” he repeated. His eyes were wet and watery, the deep blue irises so sad she had half a mind to pity him. “I didn’t come here to make excuses, but old habits die hard. Do you want to go somewhere private?” He asked, leaning his head towards McCree. He motioned to rise from the couch, but she gripped his knee so tightly she figured it would probably bruise if he wasn’t wearing jeans. 

“He can listen to whatever you have to say,” she said, dryly. “He was the one for me when I- Well. You know it already. And if you came here just to check how I’m doing, you shouldn’t have bothered. I knew what I was doing when I left home and I don’t regret it.” 

“I know,” he sighed. “I came here to apologize, Bess.” 

The words felt like ash and lead on her ears, and she blinked. 

“Apologize,” she repeated, dumbly. McCree pried her fingers from his knee, but let him squeeze his hand instead. Ashe didn’t miss the flicker of her father’s eyes to their intertwined hands. 

“Yes. I think you deserve the whole story, and I think you deserve to know why we did it. I don’t want to make excuses,” he added, hurriedly. “But I think it’s- It’s time.”

He took a deep breath, shimmying in his seat, uncomfortable. 

“What happened was that I met Ju-” 

“You didn’t ask her,” McCree said, suddenly. They both eyed him, surprised - he ran his thumbs over her knuckles as if to feel the dips and mounds of her fingers. 

“Excuse me?” Anthony said, raising an eyebrow. 

“You came here, and you said you’re sorry,” he said, “and said you’re gonna give her the whole story, because she deserves to know. Okay, good. But you didn’t ask her if she wants to know. You made the choice for her, and I’m guessin’ you didn’t change that much after all.” 

The silence that set around them was thick and tense, and Ashe swallowed when her father pursed his lips - fearing a punishment that she wasn’t young enough to receive. 

“Ada said you were a brute, not a psychologist,” he said, dryly. 

“Ada says a lot of shit, my man,” McCree replied, raising an eyebrow. “She knew what she did to Ashe, because she called me asking to look for her on Christmas.” Did she? It was Ashe’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise - McCree had never mentioned that. “Half of me thinks she did it on purpose, the other thinks she didn’t care. The whole thinks the two of you should’ve never had kids in the first place. I might be a brute, and I might not be as smart as you suits, but I know you ain’t supposed to fuck up a kid to cover your own fuck ups. You best be threading real careful now, my man. Your head is only in place because Ashe didn’t say anything yet.” 

“Jesse,” she whispered, breathless. He shook his head, a hatred so deep in his eyes she feared her father might’ve been smitten where he was. 

“Is this a threat?” Anthony asked, warily. McCree didn’t answer, which was answer enough. 

She inhaled a shaky breath, pondering. Did she want to know? Something told her she already knew enough, but there was a part of her that hoped she could put some missing pieces in place, gather the last of her memories and start mending herself together. She remembered her mother’s phone call, the incessant stream of  _ I don’t wanna know _ inside her head, and there was only…

Silence. 

It was her choice to make. 

“Tell me,” she said, quietly. 

“If you control your watchdog,” he answered, a petulant spoiled fifty-year-old child. 

“Fuck you, Anthony,” she spit. “You have no idea who the fuck you’re talking to. I’m not  _ fucking  _ Bess. I’m Ashe, head of the Deadlock, you’re inside my house, and you will respect me.” 

The Viper was on her lap before she could think - hidden inside McCree’s holster, ready to use if necessary, and he placed it on her thighs as one would handle a sword. She touched the engraving, wondering how long had it been since she stood up for herself. 

Too long. 

Anthony’s eyes danced from the Viper to the Peacekeeper McCree twirled around his fingers. They knew nothing about her life, and they knew nothing about her - they were nothing. 

And they owed her everything. 

“Tell me, Anthony,” she said, and her voice was steady, hands gripping her gun as if welcoming her strength back home. 

He paused, eyeing her- 

“Julian was an investor,” he said, quietly. “A big one. The company was going through a rough spot, and I was worried we would have to declare bankruptcy. Then I met him in a bar, and we hit right off… Your mother had her fair share of lovers too,” he offered. 

“Bold of you to assume I give a shit,” she answered. 

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. “We were lovers. And he decided he wanted to invest, which he did, and it was like- It was like a goddamn  _ miracle _ . Not only we went back on track, but we started growing like crazy. The profit was insane. And then you were born, and your mother decided that Julian has to be your godfather, because he was that good for us… I mean, there’s no harm in that. So I said yes.”

He eyed the desert outside - the brickwalls letting in a sliver of light, cold wind whipping the cacti and the dust. 

“It started when you were about six,” he said. His voice was haunted. “We had a farm right next to the border, and sometimes we’d spend the holidays there, and Julian would have a pass to come because well, he had no family. And he was your godfather, so why not? We woke up one day and you were just-”

She knew. She remembered, as if it was a movie rolling in her head - the mansion, the stables, and a faceless man who caused her unbearable pain. She woke up the next day and couldn’t sit for breakfast, and peed all over herself when her mother yelled at her for it. Her hand on the Viper shook - McCree grabbed it tightly, a lifeline amidst the storm. 

“But we said it was probably just a nightmare. Or something you had eaten. A mare had been born that exact day, and you were fascinated with it - maybe you just got impressed. We didn’t put anything together, not even when Julian claimed his entire apartment had flooded and we invited him to stay as the renovations took place. It was a good deal - her mother with the freedom to fuck whoever she liked, and I could-” 

Tears threatened to spill over his eyes. She could feel more than see the memories - the warmth of the sun, the scent of fear in her sweat, the smell of urine as she wet the bed more times she could count. Her mother yelled at her senselessly, wondering what was wrong with her, but she remembered feeling she had no words she could use to explain.  _ I’m sad _ , she would say, and her mother would scoff;  _ I’m the one who should be sad _ , she’d answer. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Elizabeth,” he said. “I know what he did was wrong and I know there were signs. But I didn’t want to see, because I loved him,” he shuddered. “I loved him like I never loved your mother, like I never loved anyone else in my entire life. It felt like- Like it lived in my bones, an addiction I couldn’t get out of. And I thought he loved me too. I had whole plans, of divorcing your mother one day, and she could keep the money and I wouldn’t care, and just- live freely. Live like a life is supposed to be lived.”

“But you didn’t know him,” she said, hoarsely. 

“No,” he laughed humorlessly. “I did not. I thought I did. Funny how love fucks you up like that. I knew there was a storm coming, but he would smile at me and I would- It was like I could breathe,” he confessed, and she knew what that was - she knew that feeling she could never put into words, and she saw him, then. Not her father, not an investment tycoon, not the aloof and distant man she had remembered, but someone who was blind and starved of love- 

Someone she saw every day in the mirror. 

The realization made her recoil in shock and disgust at herself, but Jesse held her in place. 

“Wanna leave?” he asked, quietly. He was so close, his breathing tickled her nose, and she shook her head. 

“No,” she mumbled, motioning for her father to carry on. 

“It went on for about a year,” he said. “I should’ve known when the renovation kept getting longer and longer and he would never leave. I though he just- wanted to be close, you know? He was so concerned. I had trouble sleeping and needed sleeping pills, and he would always get it for me, make sure I would sleep well-”

“So you couldn’t hear.”

“So I couldn’t hear,” he nodded, shivering. “One day I skipped, I don’t remember what happened. But I woke in the middle of the night and I heard you whimpering. You mother insisted that we weren’t supposed to encourage you with your nightmares, but I though, you know. Why not? You were a kid, I was your dad, you were allowed to be a kid every now and then. Then I heard him mumbling something, and I thought it was so nice of him to go comfort you, I wanted to go see. So I went.” 

The sound of screams, the lights, the pain. She remembered. 

But to have someone you love betray you in such a way… she didn’t want to make it about him. It wasn’t, after all. But she could imagine - she could feel it in her bones too, the need to be loved, the need to have someone who cared about you by your side. And to be stabbed in the back by the one he trusted the most, who he loved the most-

It probably wasn’t easy. She couldn’t- relate. Or understand. But it put another piece in the puzzle of her life, shedding light on the dark corners of her history, that in some way was his history too. 

“I saw him just-” he gasped, avoiding her eyes. “It was- I couldn’t imagine  _ why _ . I thought he loved me. And then I saw myself in a situation where do the right thing meant my ruin, and I just- I couldn’t- I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t brave enough.” 

She felt as if she couldn’t breathe - air clinging like syrup to the walls of her throat, her lungs, her heart, heart slowing as she struggle to inhale-

McCree’s hands on her back, coaxing breath in, breath out- 

“I need to go,” she said, standing up in a fluid motion and running out of the door, away from her father, her past, herself and her love. 

  
  
  


“I don’t know why I knew you would be here.”

She sat upon the rock that hid Avery’s body, legs crossed and eyes on the floor. There was a stain on the ground that didn’t seem to leave, as if the desert was intent on being a witness to the hideous truth of the world. 

“You know me too well,” she shrugged as he sat by her side. “Is he gone?” 

“Back to Dallas,” he said. “He asked me to take care of you, you know.” 

“Ha fucking  _ ha, _ ” she snickered. “What did you say?” 

“That I’m not your father and I ain’t babysitting a grown woman.” 

“Good answer,” she said. Her hands were full with a bottle filled to the brim with good brandy, that she was slowly depleting. All of the information of the day made her head swim, and she took another swig before McCree fished it out of her hands. “Hey! I was drinking that.” 

“We both know you shouldn’t,” he said, tucking one strand of hair behind her ear. “How are you?” 

“Would be better if you gave me back my booze,” she frowned. 

“Not happening,” he said. 

“Goddamn it, Jesse,” she sighed, rolling her eyes and hugging her knees. How was she? She couldn’t answer - her skin felt too tight over her flesh, constraining her bones so much the pressure on her spine was too painful to bear. But yet, as his hands trailed down her hair, tracing paths around her back, she felt as if something had relaxed and her lungs could finally inflate freely. 

“That must be shit to you,” he said, clicking his tongue. “I’m sorry. If I’d known-”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said. 

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“It wasn’t,” she insisted. “I feel kinda- sorry. For him.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

She said nothing for a moment, watching the wind sway the trees and leaves. It was almost night, the sky an impressive palette of blue, red, purple and gold. 

“I know what is like,” she whispered, a part of her so heavily guarded she felt at loss on why she was sharing this after all. “I know what is like to be willing to give anything for a few crumbs of affection-”

“Don’t say that,” he said, hurriedly, cradling her face between his hands. “I know. But don’t say it-”

“But it’s real,” she whispered. He was so close, and his hands were so warm, he felt like a dream come true. “It’s real and it’s true. You know. It’s awful being loved out of pity-”

“Liz, no,” he said, pleading, desperate - her heart went haywire in her chest. “You’re not the same as him-”

“Aren’t I?” She scoffed, bitterly. “I risked too much too to feel like I was worthy of even the slightest bit of affection. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you know how it goes.” 

He shook his head, pausing before leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. Her breath hitched, heart skipping a beat, and as he looked at her-

There was a warmth she never thought she’d feel hidden in his eyes, and she burned up from the inside. 

“Will you-”

“Only if you ask,” he said, voice strained with the sheer amount of control it took to keep himself in place.  _ Only if you ask, _ she repeated in her mind. The memories in her head were fresh - McCree’s lips, however, were so soft and pink, she wanted to curl inside him until spring. 

Only if you ask. 

“Jesse,” she pleaded, hands finding balance on his nape-

“Jesse,” she repeated, hoarsely, and he licked his lips in anticipation-

_ People too,  _ her mind provided, a memory from books read long before, the ones she never made sense out of before that moment.  _ Think of those flowers you plant in the garden each year. They will teach you- _

The smell of him, the warmth of his skin like a furnace under her cold fingers- 

_ That people too-  _

The curl of his nose, the color of his parted lips, the hair shadowing his eyes-

_ Must wilt, fall- _

The storm in his eyes-

_ Root, rise- _

The warmth, the heat, the worry, the love-

_ In order to bloom _ . 

“Kiss me.”

The joining of their lips was a colliding supernova.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jokes aside - it's been a rough couple of days, and a wild as fuck rollercoaster that involved everything from my grandma having a stroke (she's fine now!) to me seeing my boyfriend for the first time in months, to me passing my bar exam and immediately losing the first major case of my life, after which i went to a BTS concert (i shit you not) and when i came back i was down with the most hideous sinus infection ever, like, i swear my teeth felt like they were coming off 
> 
> posting should be regular now as i come back from the existential mess and tornado to my routine that was this may/june. see ya in two weeks! <3


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yee   
> (and i cannot stress this enough)  
> haw

_ Oh, my God, I feel it in the air _

_ Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare _

_ Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere _

_ Nothin' scares me anymore _

  
  


 

Ashe thought it was funny how summer in Arizona could easily make you forget how cold winter had been. 

It was July, and it was boiling hot. The wind on her face felt like the sudden, oppressive warmth that steamed from an oven or pan that one removed the lid from. She could taste it - the monsoons weather, the storms cooking in the horizon, electricity zapping the tip of her tongue as the hot air burst into the truck’s cabin, offering little if any relief to the heat outside. The road swam in front of them, and even as McCree drove around in his boots, he had only his white tank top undershirt to his name. It was summer, it was midday, and his red truck was so old, the airconditioning smelled worse than melting off in the Arizona summer heat. 

“Whatcha’ lookin’ at?” he grumbled. In front of them, Cormac’s hideously monstrous SUV swayed under the sun, heat crumbling the hard edges of the road to Nevada as they made their way to their biggest heist yet. She leaned back on her seat, and offered a smile that he knew he was the only one allowed to see - small, timid. But there. 

“You,” she said, simply. She could swear that she saw him blush - ears red and chest hitching. But it could’ve easily been the heat too. 

He grabbed her hand, placing it on his lap to run his thumb over her knuckles. They’d been kissing in secret since January, walking around each other as if they were delicate crystals. He never asked for more, but neither did she. It was good enough to know there were arms you could go back to, warmth you could dwell in, a safe space and a safe harbor. She had never known this - she had never known what it was like to feel safe when someone else’s arms were around her, to see an embrace as comfort, not a prison. 

Ashe didn’t know what to make of it. But in her defense, it seemed as if McCree didn’t know what to make of it either - he wasn’t very good with words, but would offer her kindness with his body and the warmth of his skin. They didn’t talk all that much, and there was much that was left unsaid. And yet there was something between them that didn’t need to talk at all. As if their souls had known each other for so long, there were some times words just weren’t necessary, which made them all the more special when said out loud. 

“You’re too good for me, Baby girl,” he said, kissing her knuckles. 

“For you, I don’t know,” she said, feet up on the dashboard. “For this car,  _ definitely _ .” 

“Don’t go dissing Chrissy like that,” he complained. “She’s an old lady. You gotta have some respect for your elders.”

“I doubt elders would stink this much.”

“You don’t know that many elders, I see.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” she said, but laughed. Outside the window, the desert was a palette of yellow, brown and orange, a stark contrast to the bright blue sky of the summer and the gray of the clouds. It had only been a year since the previous summer, but it felt as if there was a lifetime before the anxious days of the past year and the calm anticipation of this one - warm lips on her knuckles, a random artist playing on the radio. It felt right. 

That’s why she knew it wouldn’t last. 

  
  


 

Las Vegas never quit being impressive, with its lights and flashy omnics and the amount of cash it breathed. They boys loved it - the land of careless spending, of carnal pleasures and of drinking oneself into oblivion. She had never been one for careless spending or carefree fucking, but she had always been good at gambling, and even more so when it came to cards. Once, when she was a teenager, she ran out of school and made the trek all the way to Vegas, making some good thousands on blackjack tables before her mother tracked her down and sent B.O.B to haul her ass back to school. The memories were bittersweet and lovely - the flashing neon lights, gambling, drugs, and all she wanted was someone to talk to. 

“Asked for your luck yet?” McCree asked, looping one arm around her shoulders. Las Vegas was really not that much fun when you were trying to stay sober, but one could find a bit of fun where there once was none. In her case, it was Zoltar future telling machine she was staring at, twirling a roll of ones around her finger to decide if it was worth the money. 

“Not really,” she answered, vaguely. The damned thing was in the lobby of their hotel, and while the gang was getting hammered as a way to curb the anxiety over the next evening’s heist, she eyed the tasteless machine with as much interest as she would look a fucked up blackjack game. “Do you think it’s a bit racist?” 

“The fuck?” He asked, downing a bit more of his beer. Her throat was dry, and she made an effort to look away. 

“I mean, that is clearly a white guy,” she nodded to the machine. One bright blue eye was broken, wonky and off - and Ashe wasn’t one for religious belief or even one for superstition, but damn if that robot wasn’t creepy enough. It was older than they all were, and still working, which said wonders about its construction, but there was something about that mismatched eye that sent shivers down her spine. “And yet he has this fake tan and this hideous fake Turkish accent.”

“Huh,” McCree said, eyeing the machine carefully. “Yeah. I mean, I can see it, but I really don’t wanna think about it. Go on, ask for advice. We goddamn need a bit for tomorrow.”

“Ha fucking  _ ha _ , Clint Eastwood,” she mumbled, but unrolled an one-dollar bill and shoved it into the machine while McCree hummed the same Gorillaz song. The machine whirred to life, twirled its one working eye, and spoke. 

_ “A busy idleness possesses you,” _ it whirred, voice clunky and strained flowing out of its speakers,  _ “you seek a happy life, with ships, cars and planes — but  the object of your search is present within you. Remember that life is a breath of wind, and money cannot buy back time with those you love. Wear rubies more often and you shall be lucky.” _

A moment of pause, and they looked at each other confusedly as the machine spit a ticket - Ashe picked it up. 

“Go to reception to collect your prize,” she read. “What do you think?” 

“That was spooky,” he said, tapping the glass window. The man’s eye swayed a bit with the impact. “Right before the heist, even-”

“Tacky,” she said, “The word that you’re looking for is tacky. Do you know how long that machine must’ve been in there?  _ Ages _ . It probably says the same things over and over again.” 

“Whatever,” he shrugged, finishing the last of his beer. His legs looked wonderful in those tight, worn-out jeans, and Ashe wished for a split second they weren’t there for work, but just to enjoy each other’s presence. He caught her looking and smiled, tapping her chin to get her to lean back her head so he could place a kiss on her lips. “You heard the psychic. Money can’t buy time with those you love.” 

“But it can buy them a motherfucking suite in motherfucking Vegas,” she winked, walking over to the reception. “I bet you can say that’s one hell of a love demonstration. Hey, Miss? I got this out of the machine over there-”

“Oh, right,” the omnic receptionist said, hovering out of her seat and onto the cabinets against the wall. McCree’s hands were up in her hair, tracing paths on her skull. She loved it, leaning back into his hands, when the receptionist came back-

With a deck of tarot cards. 

“Is this for real?” She asked. The thing looked at least thirty years old, dusty, but never used - McCree picked it up and turned it over on his palm, pondering. 

“Well, you’ve earned somethin’,” he said, handing it back. “What now?”

“Fuck if I know” She shrugged, but then turned to him, dead serious. “Unfortunately, now you’ll have to find me a goat to sacrifice. I’m a witch now. I don’t make the rules.”

“Crap, baby girl,” he laughed, hand finding the small of her waist, his thumb rubbing circles on the base of her spine. She shivered. July heat clung to her skin like oil and yet the heat she felt had nothing to do with summer in Nevada. “I don’t think we can find a goat. We got Terran, tho. Can you make do?” 

“Don’t know, cowboy,” she snickered. “I don’t know if the spirits will dig his soul as an offering either.” 

Years in the future, when she was alone on her bed and thumbing through the tarot cards as if they could offer her some sort of answer to  _ why _ did things happen as they did, she would remember him like this - the heat of the summer night, the loud echo of his laughter in a mostly empty reception room, the warmth of his hands on her back, and the glint of happiness in his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her as if she was the luck countless seers and fortune tellers had prophesied in the city of sin.

But she didn’t know of the future just yet. All she knew was that they were there and they were together, and that was enough. 

  
  
  


 

The warehouse they were supposed to break into was far away from the city, but not enough that she couldn’t see the neon lights flashing and glimmering under the cloudless sky. It was like an oasis in the distance, oddly close, but way too unreachable. 

Ashe kicked a few stones on the ground, pondering. Emmett had been gone to collect their contact who would bypass the security of the place. From  the outside it seemed pretty standard - the best way to hide something, she supposed, was putting it in plain sight. Whatever security there was, it was far and in between. The brunt of the police force was in the city, armed to the teeth as the UFC match called upon all of the gang leaders to crawl out of their hiding holes. 

As Emmett’s black pickup truck became clear in the distance, Ashe pulled her scarf up to her face, hand hovering around the Viper’s holster. It was show-time. And it was probably the hundredth time she had been like this, moments before commiting a crime, and she figured it was in those brief seconds of anxious silence she felt most alive. 

Emmett parked in front of them - Ashe, McCree and the triplets; Cormac, his wife and two bodyguards. Cormac had brought a monstrosity of a truck, while Ashe and McCree had taken the old car. They were an odd group alright, but not quite as awkward as Emmett’s weird take on what he believed to be a stealthy choice of clothing. 

“Black leather pants and a black v-neck,” Ashe whistled. “Could you be more stereotypical?” 

“I even have my black cowboy boots” Emmett said, shutting the car’s door closed. He really did, and Ashe rolled her eyes. “Los Muertos fixed me with a contact to crack the security system here. The rig is on the back of the truck, all set to go.”

“Didn’t know you were giving the Muertos a share of the loot, Emmett,” Ashe said, wryly. Emmett merely tsked, pulling a few rolled maps from his car and spreading them on a nearby rock, beckoning to come closer. 

“It was a freelance thing,” he said. “Besides, if we do our job properly, there won’t be shit left here for the Muertos to come after. Or maybe they will and they are the ones who’ll get in trouble. Whatever. Want the run down or not?”

She rolled her eyes once more, but stepped closer.

 “Basically,” Emmett continued, “the gates are automatized and they open and close for a specific amount of time. From what I could gather, the gates open for thirty minutes each time. So, tee zero, I’ll open the door and you get in. T-two, the doors will close and automatically open only in t-thirty, upon which you’ll have two minutes to get all of the loot out. Clear enough?”

“Sure,” McCree nodded. 

“This is  _ serious  _ business, guys,” he insisted. His eyes were pitch black as the night sky, starlight swallowed by the neon flashing lights of Las Vegas. “If you stay stuck in there, the doors will only open again in three hours, so you are guaranteed to get caught. That’s basically it. Do you want the actual nerdy explanation on how I’ll be able to hack into the warehouse’s system?” 

“We’re good, thanks,” Ashe said, curtly, and he nodded.

“Alright then,” he said, handing them copies of the maps. “You have those maps memorized. You know where you need to go. Get in, get the loot in thirty minutes sharp, plus extra two minutes to load up the truck. Can I start?” 

They nodded, gravely. 

“Okay,” he mumbled, walking back to the truck to kickstart the hacking rig. “stay in position to run in. Doors opening in five, four, three, two, one-”

A loud click, and the sound of doors sliding open. 

“You’re on,” Emmett yelled, “ _ Go _ .”

 

 

 

“Remember that one scene from Aladdin?” Ashe asked, as she and McCree stepped carefully towards the room they were supposed to loot. The triplets were dead silent on their heels, the underground storage hidden by the nondescript warehouse too much like a science fiction movie for them to be anything other than stunned. “Where he bursts into that one cave?”

“Oh yeah,” McCree answered. The corridor was vast, and they could see many rooms filled with tank busters, grenades and pistols. Although her mouth nearly watered at the sign of all of those guns, she knew they were after the  _ good _ stuff - the military grade rifles, the ones Overwatch itself used. Good things come for those who wait, or so her grandmother used to say. She doubted her grandmother would like seeing her stealing from a military facility, though. “Why that, now?”

“Aren’t you feeling even a little bit in the cave of wonders?” She said. As they came to an intersection in hallways, she stopped as McCree checked if the area was clear and motioned them to carry on. 

“Now that you’ve mentioned,” he said. “Em would be the villain, though.”

“Sure looks the part,” she shrugged. “Did you see his boots?” 

“You’re nitpickin’, baby girl,” he snorted. “Are we close?” 

“GPS says three hundred meters more,” she said, eyeing the screen of her wristwatch. “This place is  _ huge _ , goddamn. If I knew…” 

“Don’t think about that,” McCree said. “Who’s the genie, then?” 

“B.o.B?”

“He’s more like a magic carpet kinda guy,” McCree shrugged. “No offense. Why didn’t you bring him down, by the way?”

“He isn’t built for stealth,” She shrugged. “The genie is Cormac, then. And the monkey is Terran.”

“Dunno, baby girl. Abu has  _ brains-” _

“Hey!” Terran protested in the back - but was quickly silenced by Ashe’s deadly stare.

Twelve minutes, her watch informed her. The time was good, and the return trip would definitely be quicker, but she still had a nagging feeling they could definitely be faster. She shook it off, however - she needed to focus. The numbered doors passed by them in a blur - door #147, door #148, door #149- 

“That’s it,” she said as they reached door #150. The handle had a number panel - she lowered herself to look at it closer, pondering. “P.T, give me the codebreaker.” 

“When you say codebreaker, it just sounds so sly,” McCree commented as she plugged the hacking device on the panel. It lit up as it ran its code, and Ashe snickered. 

“We’re  _ stealing _ , McCree,” she said. “What the fuck did you expect?” 

He didn’t have time to answer - the lock clicked open, and as Ashe opened the door, the chins of all in the party collectively dropped to the floor. 

There wasn’t an inch of wall that wasn’t covered with guns - the good stuff, the rifles lining the shelves and the self-loading cartridges that she had only dreamed of. McCree let out a nervous giggle, and the triplets actually high-fived behind them. She merely eyed Jesse, both of them conversing without saying anything. That was it, they were  _ filthy _ rich, and if Ashe did her job, they wouldn’t even need to worry about taxes or money ever again. 

“Well, fucking Jesus Christ on a flaming pogostick,” McCree whistled. “Guess Emmett wasn’t a ragin’ psychotic after all.” 

“You’re balls deep in the loot and only  _ now _ you’re admitting Emmett might have nothing going on between his ears? You’re very stupid.” 

“Or very brave,” he winked, beginning to pull the guns out of its shelves and checking if they were loaded before strapping them onto his body. She motioned the triplets to do the same, and they cleaned the room in record time. 

“Alright, fellas,” she called, “We have exactly eleven minutes to haul booty. So when I say go, we  _ go _ . Strutting our way out of here-”

She saw it before it happened - Zeke reaching for a lever right under a shelf, and she raised her hand to stop him one split second too late; he pulled it, opening a secret safe, where only a pistol was hidden. 

“Huh,” he said, picking it up, “Weird. Why only this itty bitty thing? Oh, shit, it has a name. It’s Caduceus-”

He had no time to finish his though - the lights turned red, the alarm blasted through the walls, and a voiceover yelled at their ears. 

“ _ OVERWATCH EQUIPMENT BREACH _ ,” it blasted, deafening. “ _ INITIATING SHUTDOWN IN. T. MINUS. 5. MINUTES _ .” 

“Holy fucking SHIT, ZEKE!” She yelled, hands aimed towards his throat. She would’ve choked him to death if it wasn’t for McCree pulling on her towards the open door, ushering her past it. 

“Maim and murder later, save your ass first, Ashe,” he said, “We gotta run.”

In hindsight, Ashe didn’t know how in the everliving fuck they managed to make 10 minutes of walk into a five minutes of the fastest she had ever run in her life. She wouldn’t be able to tell how they navigated through the maze of corridors and doors and hallways without getting trapped. All she knew was the facility passed by in a haze of red lighting and the distant sound of stomping steps, feeling dread creeping in closer and closer as they ran for their lives and climbed up stairs in a hurry, going as fast as they could until they saw the door-

And the door- 

Was sliding shut.   

Ashe wouldn’t be able to retell this later. She barely knew how she did it - she just sprinted towards the door, clutching McCree tightly by the wrist, closed her eyes-

And threw herself towards the slowly closing gap, rolling on the floor until she stopped. 

There was a silence, something eerie in the air. She didn’t want to look - she didn’t want to see they hadn’t made it out and were stuck inside that steel prison. 

“Ashe?” McCree asked, and she took a deep breath, opening one eye-

To be greeted with the dim stars of the Las Vegas sky. 

The rush of relief was so overwhelming Ashe burst into laughter, sitting up. Next to her, there was the entire gang - the triplets looked like they saw a ghost, Cormac and his wife, probably done with their part with minutes to spare, eyeing them as if they were absolutely insane, Emmett nearly pissing himself on the desert floor, and McCree-

McCree eyeing up to her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“We made it, baby girl,” he giggled, hands finding the curve of her waist as he looked at her increduly. “We fucking-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence - Ashe lowered herself and silenced him with a kiss. 

Blood thrumming on her ears, heart leaping out of her throat, she nearly escaped  _ death _ , and all she wanted to do was to kiss him silly until the world was over - and then, kiss him a bit more. 

“Alright, lovebirds,” Emmett said, dryly. “Can someone  _ care _ to explain why the  _ fuck _ did you  _ idiots _ blasted the fucking  _ alarm?! _ ”

“You’re worrying about the heist, friend?” Cormac hooted, “Is it because you’re  _ sore  _ you lost the fucking bet? I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

Ashe inhaled deeply to yell at all of them, but McCree shushed her with a thumb on her lips. Laying down on the Nevada desert, covered in dirt and with so many plasma rifles strapped to him, he looked like a mirage or an oasis, and she laughed - she laughed until she lost balance, until there were tears coming out of her eyes, until her belly ached and her heart hurt and swelled and all of it together because she was here, she had survived, she was  _ alive _ and, more importantly, she was  _ loved. _

That’s why it would hurt so much when it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished drafting this story completely so by my planning, we'll have only 6 more chapters to go, two of which are already written. So while we're definitely going towards the end, I won't actually put up that on the description because I might need to add or cut a chapter or two depending on how the story flows. Just so you know I don't plan on keep going for much longer! 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your encouragment and I'll see you in two weeks <3


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: sex, drugs, and mildly-melancholic and yet sultry indie songs baby
> 
> (no, really, there's sex and drugs in this chapter, i'm serious)

_ Oh that weight is lifting _

_ Lifting on me _

_ It carries me _

_ Out to the sea _

_ And swallows me _

  
  
  
  
  


Las Vegas never quit being impressive, and there was something to be said about how a city was built entirely on things meant to destroy you. The thought was fleeting, but it was there as she sat on the bar nursing her third glass of whiskey of the night. 

They had done it. The heist was a complete success, Zeke’s insanity aside. Cormac had already hit the road with the loot, Emmett was drinking himself to oblivion in a high end brothel in Vegas and the triplets weren’t anywhere to be seen, for their own safety. If anything, police would be looking for a bunch of masked cowboys, and she could dress up if needed. 

McCree said he had something to do before coming to meet her. She bit her lower lip, looking at the watch. He was forty-five minutes late, which wasn’t even that much for McCree’s standards, but there was something about sitting on a bar stool in six-inch red stilettos, shifting uncomfortably in the plunging neckline of her wrap up silk dress. One would think Ashe would be used to such provocative clothing, but one would be wrong - her favoring of tight clothes was more out of practicality than anything. Couldn’t have anything frilly caught up when you’re trying to escape, that’s the point. The times she dressed up were few and in-between; she wasn’t even sure McCree had even seer her done beyond her usual red lipstick and heavy eyeliner. 

The bartender lost something right in her cleavage, and she was ready to shove his nose right inside his face for fucking  _ staring _ when someone touched her arm. 

“Hey,” McCree said, “Sorry I’m-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence, mouth hanging open as she stood up from her stool. 

Ashe wasn’t  _ stupid _ . She knew she looked stunning, and she had dressed for that exact reaction, but that couldn’t stop the heat from climbing to her cheeks and ears. McCree didn’t simply check her out - he  _ devoured _ her with his eyes, shifting uncomfortably inside her own suit pants. 

“What?” She asked, nervously. The wrap of the dress tied up around her waist, flaring in a slight slit that opened as she walked, and she tried to stay as still as possible. Inside her head there was a mix of shame and pride, and as McCree wet his lips and grinned at her, she felt something burning right on her navel too.

“You look-” he said, huskily, and pulling her close by the waist to lay a kiss on her cheek. She felt her heart thundering behind her ribcage - she eyed the fire and lust in his eyes, and just-

She just-

“This was a mistake,” she wheezed. “I shouldn’t have- I don’t even know if I can handle- I’m  _ sorry- _ ” 

“Hey,” he said, holding her by the shoulders. “If you can’t, you can’t. I ain’t going around wanting to fuck every other work of art I get stunned by. And you, baby girl,” he said, stepping back to look at her again - the long hair thrown over a shoulder, the deep ruby of her dress, the impossibly high heels - “You’re lookin’ like a damn masterpiece.” 

She didn’t know how to answer that, bringing his knuckles to her lips and giving them a soft kiss. There were many things she wished she could say, and they whiskey definitely got her feeling pretty - but also pretty nervous, if she were to be honest. 

“And,” he said, patting his pockets for a small plastic bag, putting it on light, “Got half a molly for us. You know. Just to get the luck running.”

She laughed, shaking her head and snatching the bag from his hand, breaking the MDMA pill in half. 

“To Vegas,” she said, placing it square under her tongue. 

“To Vegas, baby,” he answered, winking, and swallowing his own half dry before leaning down to kiss her as if she was oxygen. 

  
  
  


The gambling room glowed in red, golden and black all around her, and the feel of the velvet of the blackjack table was so amazing under her hands it sent shivers down her spine. The whiskey tasted so  _ good -  _ like woods and barrels and old school spaghetti westerns clouded in smoke, and she giggled as she turned one of the chips piled in front of her over in her hands. Colors, sounds and smells, it all felt just so  _ good _ , she felt it inside the marrow of her bones. 

“Another one for you, baby girl,” McCree said, right behind her, placing an aperol spritz where her empty glass lied. She giggled once more, angling up her face to kiss him - the feel of him against her lips was enough to make her shiver, and when he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck- 

“Jesse,” she said, “You know I shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Just for today, babe,” he kissed her forehead, pulling two lollipops from his pocket and unwrapping them, tapping her lips so she would part them and placing the candy inside her mouth. It was so sweet her teeth ached, but she moaned anyways, biting down on the plastic stem almost immediately. McCree grinned as she sucked on his own, looking at her game. “Wiping the table?”

“Getting lucky,” she winked. On her peripheral vision, she could see the old man next to her eyeing her curiously, and she held McCree’s arm around her middle tighter. “Guess we’re gonna be  _ rich _ when I’m done.”

“Oh, you guess?” He arched an eyebrow, pulling his lollipop off his lips to kiss the side of her neck. “You’re gonna be my sugar momma, now.” 

“I didn’t know you had a mommy kink, Jesse,” she said, taking a sip of her aperol - bitter, tangy, bubbly and orange, and it tasted like summer on her tongue. 

“Oh babe, I don’t have a mommy kink,” he smiled, “I have a  _ you _ kink. You lookin’ damn fine in this dress, you know that? The fella right next to you might tear a piece apart if he keeps lookin’ like that to you.” 

The old guy next to her choked on his own drink - McCree patted his shoulder, winking. The table swam in front of her cards dancing as if in a choreography, the orange in her lips tasting like sunsets and fireworks, and McCree looked like prince charming in the flesh. She forgot about the old creep for a second, turning around to run the pads of her fingers through his beard, and as he leaned on it they felt like pure bliss on her hands.

“No hard feelings, my man,” he said, finally. “I know my girl is stunning. You can say it.”

“Your girl?” She snickered, shaking her head. 

“Yes,” he eyed her, brown eyes two embers in the darkness, the copper of his skin tasting like blood and sounding like thunderstorms, and she shivered under its intensity. “ _ My _ girl. My woman, whatever you name it.” 

“Aw, babe,” she cooed, turning back to the game as he hugged her from behind. “You know, though, it’s as they say. If you like it then you should put a ring on it.” 

“Okay,” he said, dead serious. “Marry me, then.” 

The world slowed to a halt as blood rushed through her ears. She turned around so fast her eyes trembled, switching side to side so fast she got dizzy and he had to steady her on her seat. His words were champagne-gold and bubbly in her ears; she saw them leave his mouth in a bittersweet haze, mouth watering from the bitter aftertaste of the promise in his eyes. She shivered, body and soul, feeling as if her sternum had caved inward. 

“The fuck you on about, McCree?” She wheezed. 

“I mean it,” he shrugged.

“You’re  _ high, _ ” she said, “And you’re  _ crazy _ . Marrying me? You’re insane? Don’t-” She said, suddenly too overwhelmed to say anything, eyes filling with tears threateningto spill. He grabbed both sides of her face, tipping her to face him. 

“I’m high, and I’m crazy, and I’m not really that smart, but all I know is that no one gets me like you do and I need you. I  _ need _ you, Liz,” he insisted, wiping the discreet tears pooling on the corner of her eyes. “When you’re gone, my life is a fucking  _ mess _ . You’re my northern star, baby, and I can’t find my way around if you’re not here. So. Want me to get on one knee? I can do it. I mean, fuck, we might have to throw the whole suit away, but-”

“Don’t kneel,” she said, laughing through tears. The whole situation was so ridiculous and bizarre, but her heart wanted to leap out of her chest. “Don’t kneel, because fuck me, Jesse McCree, I will marry you. Holy shit.”

His smile, buttercream and rose pepper, the smell of his perfume seafoam blue in her ears, and she eyes him as one would look a monument, feeling his skin on her skin something borderline miraculous - Jesse looked like a devil with angel’s wings and he was everything she ever wanted, and she said yes. 

She said  _ yes _ . 

“Okay, so we’re going,” he said, pulling her off her seat. The old man right next to her nodded in dumbfounded respect, and she giggled stupidly. 

“We’re going right now?” 

“Right this second, baby girl, chop chop chop,” he said, pulling her out of the game and out of the casino into the warm streets of the city of sin.

 

They tumbled into their hotel room far after 5 A.M, giggling through the corridors. The pearl and diamond ring on Ashe’s finger was so expensive she was half sure it could serve as a mortgage for a suburban 3-story house, and yet she couldn’t care less, tapping into her family’s bank account without thinking twice - it was the least they could do after all the shit they pulled her through and, you know what, in the end it didn’t even matter, because she said  _ yes _ . 

She said  _ yes _ , and fucking  _ Michael Jackson _ had pronounced them husband and wife, she had the gross internal product of a third world country on her finger, and she had said  _ yes _ . 

“Jesse,” she called, giggling as he carried her bridal style to their room, stilettos in hand. Her feet hurt so much she wasn’t sure if she could ever stand up straight again. “Jesse, shit. We got  _ married,  _ man-”

“I know,” he said, grinning so much in pearly white shades she had half a mind to worry if his face would crack in half. She loved his face - it would be a pity if it cracked. She cradled his face with her hands, eyeing him: the straight nose and sharp jaw, the soft hair of his nape. 

“Jesse,” she called as he pulled the card key from his pocket and opened the door to maneuver them inside, “ _ Jesse-” _

“Yeah, baby girl?” 

“Jesse, I love you,” she said, seriously. “I really love you.”

“I’d hope so, babe,” he laughed, placing her delicately sitting on the bed. “You’re my missus now, and I love you to the fucking  _ moon _ . You okay there?” 

“I am. Wait. Is there orange juice?” 

“Maybe the mini-bar has it,” he said, reaching down to look inside. “Yup, there we go. It’s really fucking expensive, though.” 

“I’m sorry, you weren’t talking expense when you let me buy this!” She raised her hand, showing the ring on her finger. “Holy shit. Jesse, holy shit. Cormac is gonna shit puppies when he learns of this.” 

“Everyone will,” he said, sitting down and picking the juice bottle inside the minibar, handing it to her. She broke the seal and downed it in one large gulp - he giggled at her face, tasting fake summer tans and citrus in her mouth. 

“Damn,” she said, shaking her head. “Damn, Jesse. We done fucked up.” 

“Maybe,” he said, getting up and craddling her head between his hands. “But being with  _ you _ don’t sound like a mistake. So I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she nodded, then paused. “I’m really fucking high.” 

“Me too, babe,” he laughed. “How about we go to sleep?”

“But Jesse,” she said, vaguely waving a hand to the large king size bed taking up half of their room. “We just got married. We gotta  _ fuck, _ man.” 

Jesse’s face turned into a mixture of horrified, lustful and amused, all in one - she had no idea how those emotions could even be  _ conveyed _ together, but alas, there they were. 

“You’re the reason why Jesus changed his middle name to fuckin’, Miss Ashe,” he said, leaning down to kiss her - his lips felt like cotton candy against her lips, melting and sweet and tasting of spring and blue skies. She moaned and he drew back, sighing. “But you’re high, I’m high, and that ain’t how I want this to go down.” 

“What do you mean?” she asked, petulant. “This is the  _ best _ moment. This is the moment I’m not  _ thinking _ .”

“You know that ain’t it, Liz,” he whispered in her ear. “I’d rather we do this sober. I’m gonna go take a leak real quick. You good?” 

“I guess,” she grumbled. When the bathroom door shut close, she begun unraveling herself out of her dress - he wouldn’t keep up the gentleman act if she was waiting naked on the bed. The bed - she ran her hands on the fabric of the comforter, feeling it cozy and plush against her skin. It felt so fucking  _ good _ ; she would just. Rest her eyes. On this fluffy bed. For  _ five  _ minutes-

She barely noticed when she drifted off to a hazey sleep. 

  
  


She woke up still in her party dress, tangled up with Jesse in bed, and it was dawn. 

Ashe eyed the large windows letting in the golden, orange and purple haze of early morning. It took her half second and one eye to the digital clock on the bedside for her to notice it wasn’t, in fact, morning, but evening, and the sun was setting rather than rising. Her stomach felt weird, and she was pretty sure her brain had the consistency of mashed potatoes at that point. 

_Jesus_ _Christ_. What a reminder she wasn’t, in fact, sixteen any longer. Her head was filled with cotton, her ears buzzing in protest. She groaned, and Jesse shifted, bringing her closer. 

“Don’t wake up,” he mumbled. “Too early.”

“I need a fucking shower,” she said, but made no move to get away - it was warm and cozy, and the curve of his arm was the best place she could settle herself in. “You too, you gross motherfucker.” 

“I liked it better when you were telling me you loved me,” he arched an eyebrow. 

“I was  _ high _ ,” she argued. “Am. Still. Maybe.” 

“Don’t think you are,” he said, rolling over to stretch, back muscles rippling under tight skin. “Okay, then, go take your shower, Missus White Rabbit. How about we order some room service?” 

“I don’t want to even  _ think _ about food,” she grumbled, burying her nose on the curve of his neck. “I don’t want to eat ever again.  _ Ever _ .” 

“I’ll order soup,” he said. “Go on, baby girl.”

Regretting ever having mentioned it in the first place, she rolled out of bed, groaning. Her calves and the arch of her feet hurt from the heels - she cursed the moment she thought such a massive impracticality was worth the pain, only for the aesthetics. Beauty is pain, her mother used to say. She didn’t know what to make of it, and was still thinking about it when she closed the bathroom door, trying to untie the knot around her waist keeping her dress together. 

Under the pale yellow light, she didn’t even look that  _ bad _ . She inspected herself in the mirror - makeup still halfway intact, hair a mess and smudged lipstick, thin shoulders and bones sticking out from the delicate skin under her breasts. She poked them, interested. Winter had taken many pounds off her body, as she was unable to eat anything during her mental breakdown. Spring and summer came, but she still couldn’t gain the weight she lost, as if to remind her she didn’t leave unscathed. 

The dress fell on the floor in a mess of deep red fabric, and she sighed when the hot water hit the skin of her back as she stepped into the shower. There was some shampoo and conditioner in a nook in the wall, and she took it even though she knew it would turn her hair into a frizzy mess - and as she ran her hands through her hair, trying to untangle the mess it had become, something got stuck on her finger. 

“What the-” she mumbled, trying to pry it free - when she did, searching for the culprit nearly threw her off-balance, and she yelped. 

“Babe?” McCree called, “You okay there?” 

“Yeah,” she said, voice wobbly. “Yeah, just slipped here. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. There it was, sitting squarely on her ring finger, a rose-gold band with two small pearls siding the round shape of a diamond. The night came crashing down on her as a thunderstorm in July, and she felt the room tightening around her, feeling too difficult to breathe-

She got married. 

To McCree. 

In  _ Vegas _ . 

And she asked him to have sex with her, and he  _ denied _ . 

She sat down on the bathtub, letting the water spray rinse the shampoo out of her hair. As she absently reached for the conditioner, she thought about it. She looked good, she knew as much - he  _ told _ her as much. And yet, when he could, he didn’t want her. Why was that? Did he get married to her out of pity? Was it because-

“Oh no,” she said, realization dawning on her. He must’ve think she was broken. That was it - the reason why he didn’t want her in the first place. She felt her ears ringing, and was ready to step out of the shower and demand answers-

“Babe,” McCree knocked on the door, all her bravado going down the drain. “You sure it’s okay?” 

“I- yeah,” she said, standing up and turning off the shower. As she wrapped herself in her towel, she couldn’t stop thinking about that - that she was broken, tainted somehow by her past. She opened the door, and Jesse gave her a chaste kiss on her shoulder before stepping into the shower himself, not even caring for the door. She shut it behind her, sitting on the bed, eyes fixed on the armchair where Jesse had left all pieces of his suit. 

The thought wouldn’t leave her. She looked at the high heels on the floor, feeling her soaking wet hair dripping down her back, wetting the comforter and the crumpled sheets they were tangled on earlier, before she had to make everything difficult. She felt guilty - for drinking, for the molly, for thinking Jesse could see her beyond what her life made her to be. And he was right to be disgusted - who wouldn’t? Ashe did her fair share of fucked up shit, and she was also very fucked up in the head to boot. It wouldn’t be his fault, but her own fault, and that’s why he didn’t-

“Hey, baby girl,” Jesse said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up - the towel wrapped around his hips was hanging low, and he eyed her with concern. “You’ve been sitting here this whole time?” 

“What do you mean, this whole time? You barely got in the shower?”

“Babe,” he shook his head, sitting right next to her. “I was there for some good fifteen minutes. What’s wrong?” 

“There’s nothing wrong,” she said, dryly. “Why do you think there’s something wrong?” 

“Because you just asked me this question,” he arched an eyebrow. “Is this because we got married? It’s stupid, and we can get it annulled, it’s no big deal-”

“Do you?” 

“What?”

“Want to get it annulled?” She asked, not daring to look him in the eye. The ring was suddenly heavy on her finger - she fiddled around with it, not really sure of what to say. 

“I mean, if you want to,” he shrugged. “But I didn’t lie, Liz. At all. I might’ve been high as a kite, but I wasn’t lying. You are my northern star,” he said, and pinched her chin to draw her eyes to him. “That wasn’t bullshit. That was kinda sappy, and really tacky, but it was true, and is still true. So if you tell me you ain’t ready for marriage, that’s fine. As long as you’re here with me, that’s fine.” 

She didn’t know how to answer that, so she nodded. When he let go of her face, she eyed down, to where their hands were intertwined. 

“Why did you say no yesterday?” She asked, voice nearly a whisper - when he didn’t answer, she thought he hadn’t heard anything, and was halfway through pondering whether or not it was worth repeating herself when he spoke. 

“Because you were high, drunk, and I didn’t think it was a good moment,” he said, quietly. “You know that, don’t you? I wouldn’t have sex with you if you were high even if I didn’t know about your past. Or even if your past didn’t happen at all. That’s just fucked up, and I’m many things, but I’m not a  _ creep _ . Why are you asking me?” 

“It’s just-” she said, feeling frustrated tears threatening to spill - she looked up to the ceiling, trying to keep it reigned in. “I  _ want _ to. I’m just- I don’t know. Scared, I guess.”

“Scared of me?”

“No,” she said, quickly. “Or, I mean. Not of you  _ you _ , but of what you’d think. That I was broken, or that I was gross-”

Jesse silenced her with his lips on her lips, pressing against her so urgently she felt as if he was about to explode. When he looked at her, his eyes were stormy oceans, and he held her by the shoulders. 

“Liz, listen to me real close now,” he said, seriously. “There’s nothing I’d like more in the world than to have sex with you. All day. Every single day. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life and even when you think you look like shit, you still take my breath away. But,” he ran the pads of his fingers softly through the skin of her arms, sending shivers down her spine. “I’m not- Look. I don’t want to make things difficult. And I’m okay the way things are. I’m okay at waiting on you, because this ain’t about me. It ain’t about what  _ I _ think about you, it’s about what you are okay doing.” 

“I don’t know what I’m okay doing,” she admitted. 

“Well, you’ve had sex before, right?” 

“I mean, yeah,” she shrugged, looking down. “When I was boarding, yeah. But it wasn’t- I mean. Teenagers. You know how that shit goes.” 

“Badly,” Jesse said, grinning, but sighed, running his hands through his damp hair. “Look, whatever you want to do, it’s fine by me. If you want it to stop, we stop. If you don’t want to do shit, we order room service and watch TV all night. For the rest of our lives. Except it’s not gonna be room service. Take out, maybe?” 

“No one delivers at the warehouse,” she said, but felt her chest lighten - she sighed, leaning on his shoulder. Her stomach did backflips, keeping her in place. She tried to rationalize it, say to herself it was because she felt comfortable with him, or she was finally dealing with her past, or that she felt safe, but the bottom line was that she wanted it. 

She wanted it, and it was enough. 

“You good?” He asked. 

“I’m- yeah. I wanna- I think we could try,” she said, sheepishly. The embarrassment wasn’t really her thing. In fact, she had never been one to be shy about what she wanted, which lead her to her own fair share of one night stands back in her teens. But there was never a significance, or even any sort of feeling, and there was something different about feeling unraveled - and liking it. 

Jesse eyed her with so much promise and love she felt she would burst, shattered in a thousand smithereens, never to be put together again. 

Maybe this was love, she thought as he took her hand delicately and pulled her towards the armchair, throwing all of the clothes on the carpeted floor before sitting down and pulling her right in his lap. She shivered, feeling his fingers running down the exposed skin of her thighs - she was painfully reminded she was very much naked under the bathrobe. Maybe love was being undone in all the best ways, shattering and being put together. Jesse ran his hands through her hair, kneading at her nape, and she groaned while he tried to undo the tense knots on the muscles of her neck. 

“You okay?” 

“Mm-hmm,” she muttered, eyes fluttering closed. He pulled her delicately towards him, lips touching the skin of her cheek, the delicate stretch of her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her temples - everywhere he could reach. His index finger traced the outline of her lips, and he sighed. 

“You have no idea-” he mumbled, pulling her closer to press his lips against hers. 

It was weird how she always melted into him. Like his lips could always halt the overthinking in her head - they were so soft, and yet so demanding, carefully coaxing her to give more of herself over. And she did, willingly - he wrapped his arms around her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck, and it was just so  _ good _ , just to sit like this, limbs so tangled she couldn’t tell where he ended and where her began, feeling the heat of his skin against her skin; she could die like this, she figured, and as he pulled away, gasping for air and yet smiling so beautifully, she was sure. 

He placed a soft kiss on the curve of her neck, gently pushing the collar of her robe aside to expose a collarbone and shoulder. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, and she nodded - he placed one kiss right where neck met the collarbone, tracing the bone with his nose. 

“I lost a lot of weight,” she said, in lieu of an explanation. 

“I know,” he said, kissing a path up her shoulder and neck and down to the other side. “It’s okay.” 

“Okay,” she parroted, and he smiled against her skin, kissing every inch. When he reached the dip of her cleavage, he eyed her, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded. 

Delicately, as one would unwrap an intricate gift, he pulled her out of the top part of her robe, exposing her breasts to the chill of the room. She shivered, and felt her entire body covered in goosebumps when he ran one careful thumb over a nipple. She was so white it was nearly blinding under the sun, but the sunset outside cast golden, orange, red and purple on her skin, painting it different colors as if she was a canvas. She didn’t feel  _ beautiful _ . But she felt as if she was a work of art - something special, something delicate, something worthy of the utmost respect.

And when Jesse lowered himself to circle one nipple with his tongue, she felt as if she was something worthy of worship. 

“Oh shit,” she cursed, holding tightly onto the armrest of the chair. Jesse laughed, the deep rumble of it reverberating through her skin - she reluctantly released one hand to let it find its way to Jesse’s hair, running through his scalp as he worked her; there was something burning inside of her, something she thought it was as good as dead. He switched to another nipple, and she keened, but each sound was like music to his ears. As she writhed on his lap, he kissed her sternum, the dip of her neck, her chin and her lips, looking her in the eyes. 

“I want to eat you out,” he said, simply, and the directness of it made her blush furiously. He grinned, clearly satisfied with himself. “Can I?” 

“I guess,” she answered, and he tsked, running a thumb over a taut nipple as she bit down a moan. 

“I guess won’t do,” he said, absently. “It’s either yes or no. It’s okay if you say no.” 

“But I want to say yes,” she said, and when he eyed her, expectantly, she rolled her eyes. “Fucking- Yes, Jesse.” 

“Thank you,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion - as a reflex, her legs wrapped around his hips, holding on for dear life. 

“Jess- what!” She shrieked, and he laughed - a deep rumble on his chest, reverberating through her sternum and wrapping around her heart. It made her giddy, and she held tight to his neck, pausing her nose on its curve to scent in all that made him  _ him.  _ Smoke, beer and hotel soap, but also something deeper, something inherently Jesse that she couldn’t really describe, but that felt a lot like home. 

He laid her down on the bed, carefully. She felt exposed - completely naked under the pale dwindling sunlight, golden red purple and pale yellow casting shadows on the dips and curves of her body, the swell of her hips, and she instinctively searched for something to cover herself with. Jesse raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ve seen it all before, baby,” he said, and she fumbled with the messy covers. 

“I know,” she said. “It’s just- Different. I guess.”

“Bad different?”

“No,” she added, quickly. “Just-”

There were so many things trapped in her throat she felt a vice grip tightening it, tendrils of panic threatening to claw its way up her spine. It felt different, yes, but she wanted to explain - to tell him how much this meant to her, or how fragile she felt as he handled her oh so carefully; delicate china and priceless vase, Ashe felt as loved as she never did in her entire life, and the mere thought of it made her eyes water. She didn’t know what her feelings were doing, but she had to tell him- she had to let him  _ know _ -

“Hey,” he said, kissing the side of her knee and running his hands up and down her thighs, as if to calm their quivering. “Don’t overthink it. Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” she said, tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Liz, come on,” he said, “No apologizing here. We’re going on your time. Do you want me to carry on?” 

_ Yes _ , her heart said,  _ yes please _ . 

“I don’t wanna think,” she whispered, “I just want to feel good.” 

“That I can deliver,” he winked, delicately spreading her knees apart and kissing the delicate skin inside her thighs. She shivered, feeling the care travelling up her spine - he was so warm on her cold skin, heating the very marrow of her bones, taking her to a tropical paradise where there’s always sun and warmth and  _ love _ -

“Holy fucking-  _ shit! _ ” She cursed as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on her cunt - he giggled, kissing the dip of where her thigh met her pelvis. She didn’t know it could feel like this - slow and careful, not rushed and bland. One arm thrown over her eyes, she didn’t protest when he pulled the covers away from her body, shivering from head to toe feeling his breath over her curls. 

“If you think it’s too much, you tell me and I’ll stop,” he mumbled against her skin. 

“Do I have to tell you if I want you to keep going too?” She said, lifting her arm just enough she could be sassy - his eyes were so smouldering, so hot, so full of promises and  _ love _ , she nearly keened when he smirked. 

“Nah, babe. I think I can take that cue very well,” he said. 

And leaned down. 

Her blood was rushing through her ears, and the muscles on her belly tightened with each delicate swoop of his tongue over her clit - she thought it was insane how much care someone could pour on something and still feel so damn  _ filthy _ . She didn’t care, though. It wasn’t the filthiness from her childhood - it was something else, something clouded in love and passion, something desperate for intimacy, to let the love seep through her skin. She had a sudden thought about how they were all remnants of stars that exploded and became something else; there was no matter being created in the universe, only being transformed. And yet, as he worked her, fingers delicately finding their way to her entrance and teasing before entering her as a response to her desperate moaning, she stupidly thought she was about to become a supernova; explode in a million pieces, to be put together as something less bitter, less damaged, more healed and more loving. Loving - she felt it in every cell, flowing through her veins as her navel tightened and his movements became faster; she arched her back, trying to make sense out of it, out of that pure, unadulterated pleasure she never thought possible, and she thought-

She was gonna-

She was-

“Elizabeth,” he called, voice hoarse, and she raised herself on her elbows to see his fingers slowly coming in and out of her, feeling as they crooked upwards to find a spot inside of her she didn’t even knew existed - his chin was wet, but his eyes were two furnaces in the dying evening light. She felt a pressure on her chest, something tightening her loins- 

“Elizabeth,” he called once more, eyeing her straight in the eyes. He had never called her by her full name, and it sounded so dirty on lips covered on the evidence of her own pleasure, she let herself fall back on the bed, feeling him dragging her closer and closer to the edge. 

“Come, baby,” he whispered against the skin of her thigh. “Let me do this. Come for me.”

Ashe wasn’t one to obey orders, but she heeded - stars burst behind her eyes and she let out a broken wail as her orgasm crashed into her with the strength of a seismic wave shattering earth and raising the seas. Her legs trembled where Jesse was still holding them, but she couldn’t-

She couldn’t think. 

She stared at the ceiling for a split second, feeling the pure, unadulterated bliss of a quiet mind - she giggled, and Jesse smirked as he kissed her knee once more before crawling up to hold her in his arms. 

“I think you liked that,” he whispered against the skin of her nape, and she giggled once more. 

“I think I did,” she said, running her fingers through her damp hair. “Shit. Goddamn. Holy  _ fuck _ , Jesse.”

“Thank you very much,” he said, smugly. “If you ever need more, just hit me up.”

She twisted in his grasp, facing him. He looked sleepy and devastatingly handsome, running his fingers on the skin of her back. She was suddenly aware that he too was naked, and that the evidence of his need was still poking her on the stomach - she looked at his cock, biting her lip. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, pulling her closer. “Goes away after a while.” 

“Right,” she said, pausing. She could take it slow, yes, and Jesse didn’t seem to be overly bothered by being blue balled - except that she didn’t want to. 

She didn’t want to, and the realization was an atomic bomb on her mind. She tried to search herself to find an explanation, some reason to  _ why _ she wanted all of him and in that very moment, but couldn’t find anything other than a heart full of love and a loin full of need. She  _ wanted _ . In the future, she would look back to that moment many times, the first time she understood she didn’t really need to explain to anyone why she wanted something. In that moment, it was a sudden epiphany, and she held his face carefully between her hands. 

“I need more,” she said, quietly, but her voice was steady. Jesse laughed, kissing the tip of her nose. 

“Again, already?” He shook his head. “Damn, baby girl. I didn’t know you were  _ that _ spoiled.”

“No, Jesse,” she insisted. “I want  _ you _ .” 

His eyes went as wide as saucers and his spine went so rigid it seemed made of pure steel. She wondered if she had said the wrong thing, but the tip of his cock leaking on her belly didn’t let him hide the fact that she was offering herself as a banquet. 

And he looked  _ starving _ . 

“Holy-” he stumbled, sitting up. “Liz, really, don’t worry. You don’t have to-”

“I know,” she said, calmly. “That’s why I know I want it. Jesse,” she said, sitting as well to kiss his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the curve of his neck. “You trust me?”

“With my own damn life,” he said, hoarsely, and she kissed his earlobe before whispering in his ear. 

“Then make me yours,” she said. “Please.”

She could feel it. The dam of control and restraint burst open, and he brought her closer, holding her tightly as he kissed her with so much desperation she felt necessary to his very survival - she was oxygen, water, food, sunlight, and he needed her deeply, as he needed the blood in his veins. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled, pushing her back to lie down and climbing on top of her to cradle her face with his hands, “You’re gonna fuckin’  _ murder _ me, Liz,” 

“I won’t,” she laughed, and held his hands with her own, turning to kiss his palms, “I won’t, because I love you. I love you so damn much, baby.” 

“I love you too,” he said, kissing every inch of skin he could place his lips on without letting go, “I love you so much, Liz-”

“It’s fine,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Come on.” 

“Shit-,” he said, leaning down to touch their foreheads together, “Fucking- God fucking damn it, Liz, I ain’t got a condom-”

“And my period is a thing of the past with how much weight I lost, so it’s fine,” she insisted. “Unless you don’t want to-”

“I want,” he pleaded. “I want this more than I ever wanted anything in my life. You’re so fuckin’-”

She shut him up with a kiss, deep and slow, and felt him shifting on top of her to position himself - the tip of his cock lined with her entrance, and she shivered, breathing in deeply. 

“I’ll stop whenever you ask,” he insisted. 

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

“Okay,” he said. 

Ashe felt herself being stretch open slowly and carefully as Jesse made his way inside of her - there were goosebumps on his nape where her arms held tight, and she hissed as he let out a deep breath, so deeply sheathed inside her she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. 

“Fucking-” she moaned, and he groaned against the skin of her neck, breathing hard. 

“Yes,” he said, rolling his hips - she hissed, and he paused. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” she said, shivering. “Just. Tight.” 

“Alright,” he said, moving slowly until they found a rhythm together, rolling their hips in unison, holding each other close, tightly, kissing as if they were each other’s lifeline - Ashe felt so full, so loved, so  _ cherished _ , and Jesse eyed her with such broken vulnerability she couldn’t help but close her eyes, lost in all him - his heat, his kindness, his-

“Liz,” he cried out in abandon, “Fuckin’-”

She couldn’t answer - the edge got closer and closer the more erratic their movements got, and she found herself tethering oblivion, nearly letting herself go into the wide sea of him; closer and closer and closer-

“Thank you,” he whispered, “Thank you for loving me. Thank you, thank you-”

When her orgasm crashed into her, and as she cried out in pure bliss, and as he too reached his climax as he held her tightly as if she was a dream come true, she thought that if heaven was real, it would definitely be a place on earth as long as she remained right where she was, in the exact spot between Jesse’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so so excited for this chapter!!! I loved writing it and I wanted to make it extra lovely. Also, kids, don't do drugs (or at least do them responsibly) and wear condoms, don't get life advice from these two morons lmao
> 
> see you again in two weeks! <3


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy by the open sea references, batman
> 
> you'll pry soft, sad moira from my bloody cold fingers
> 
> CW: mentions of torture

_ Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not _

_ He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got _

_ O Lord, O Lord, I’m begging you, please _

_ Don’t take that sinner from me _

  
  
  


2067

If anyone needed babysitting, that person had never been Moira O’Deorain. 

However, McCree thought as he leaned back in his chair, idly flipping through a magazine on a holopad, O’Deorain always needed  _ supervision _ , something that had never really been given when necessary and more than certainly landed them in that mess to begin with. He raised his eyes to see her limp body folding into itself on the med bay stretcher. She was a whole lotta woman, and failed miserably in trying to pass unnoticed, but in that moment she fairly succeeded in making herself small - or as small as one could make themselves when they were over six foot tall, with one wrist cuffed to one side of the bed and the other hooked onto an I.V drip. 

He sighed, rubbing his face. Venice was a complete  _ disaster _ , for more reasons than just Moira. If he were to be honest, Moira had very little to do with how fucked up the whole mission was and very much to do with the fact he was still alive. No one in Overwatch wanted to keep watch of the crazy scientist who just happened to be a war criminal as of that moment, but McCree knew best. He didn’t really like the woman, but he knew gratitude. His Mama would be turning in her grave if she knew he left the woman who broke at least seven ribs pushing him out of the way of a Heavy Assault to fester alone in an isolated ward of the medbay. 

It was really boring, though. 

He clicked his tongue, eyeing the open door. Ziegler had passed by many times, only daring to give them a quick look before hurrying up to do whatever geniuses do. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was afraid - he knew better, because he knew guilt as he knew his own face when he looked up in the mirror. 

“Hey, doc,” he called out, silently. Moira had her back turned to him, or as much as she could being handcuffed to the stretcher, but the stillness of her gave him the positive impression of sleep. “You asleep or just faking it?” 

She said nothing, but rolled on her back, staring at the stainless steel panels covering the ceiling. 

“Is Ziegler gone?” She asked, voice hoarse. 

“She’s hoverin’” he shrugged. “Want me to call her?” 

“Oh God no,” she shivered, pulling her covers closer to her chin. It wasn’t long enough to cover most of her - maybe that’s why she kept curling into herself. 

“Heavy history, huh?” 

“McCree, just-” she said, closing her eyes and drawing in a sharp breath. “I don’t know  _ why _ you insist on just- being there, but if you came here to gloat, I’m fine on my own.”

“I could, you know,” he said. “Gloat.” 

“Wouldn’t be a strange thing for you to do, after all,” she said. The I.V drip machine beeped and she groaned, uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. They both knew Moira was getting out of that bed straight into prison, exile or worse; that could be in a dictionary as the definition of rock bottom, as he saw it. He eyed her - the pale, clammy skin, mismatched eyes and bruised mouth from where they had to stuck a tube down her throat to get her to breathe. Moira had always been this statuesque figure, always bigger than life and unreachable for those unfortunate enough to have been born with half her wits, but in that exact moment, she looked exactly like a lost child. He had a flashback of pale silver hair sticking to bathroom tiles while Ashe sobbed on his shoulder, but shook his head to chase the thought away. The less he remembered, the less it would hurt. 

“Why are you here, after all?” She muttered. He could never really read her or get an inkling on what she was feeling. It was unnerving and half the reason he didn’t really like to be near her anyways. 

“Your arm is bleeding,” he pointed out. Where the handcuffs connected to the purple scar tissue of her arm, there was a tear of fragile skin, staining the metal and the bed red. She shrugged. 

“I need the other arm for this,” she said, raising her hand and the needle stuck to the back of it. “No good veins in this arm. It’s the logical choice.” 

“They could just not cuff you,” he offered, and she scoffed. 

“As if,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They had to add insult to injury.”

“You  _ are _ a war criminal,” he offered; she went quiet, eyeing the ceiling, and McCree nearly fell from his damn chair when he saw her eyes fill with tears. He didn’t know her background, her family or her history. But he had never seen her cry. 

First time for everything, apparently. 

“And yet I have nowhere else to go,” she mumbled, voice thick. “You’d think for one being accused of sleeping with Talon, I’d at least have somewhere to fall back to once  _ this _ went to hell. But fuck me, Overwatch doesn’t allow for backup planning. You should’ve let me just-” 

Whatever the sentence was, she didn’t feel the need to complete it, but didn’t feel the need to dry her tears either - they just kept flowing down her face freely, as if she had completely given up on even trying to keep up a façade of normalcy. Angela passed by the door once more - the tears glistened under the pale sterile white light, and she just scurried away as if she hadn’t seen anything. McCree had an intrusive thought that Angela was really a coward if she couldn’t stand up for the woman she appeared to be so concerned about, but then realized it wasn’t really his place to care.

But it was difficult, he reckoned, seeing Moira’s nose get progressively redder the more tears fell down her cheeks. They were all stuck between rocks and hard places, and they were all quite aware Moira was the scapegoat for all the mistakes that took them to Venice in the first place. Another life ruined by Overwatch, in the name of world peace. 

“You know,” he said, quietly. “I’m married.”

“What?” her eyes went wide as saucers. 

“Don’t make that face,” he said, leaning back. Somewhere in his quarters, hidden under a fake bottom drawer, were two wedding bands he never really got around to give. Some days, when the pain wasn’t as intense, he’d pick them up and wonder what could’ve been. “I was young.”

“What a shocker,” she rolled her eyes. “Were you drunk and in Vegas also?”

“As a matter of fact, I was high, but I was in Vegas indeed,” he said, and she looked at him before shaking her head, the ghost of a smile playing on her pale lips. 

“Typical. So  _ American. _ ” 

“Hey, my girl wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, fishing a cigarette from his pocket. Angela would have kittens if she saw him smoking in the med bay, but at least she would have to come into the room to say something - which gave him the clear impression she really would just rather not say anything. “Was wipin’ the blackjack tables, lookin’ pretty gorgeous in a red dress. Like those old Hollywood stars, you know? She had that beauty mark right up here,” he put his index finger where Ashe’s was - he still knew the exact position, even so many years later. “I just looked at her and I thought, I gotta make that girl my wife. So I did.” 

“A compelling tale,” she said, but there was no bite to it. Her tears had stopped flowing, which McCree considered a victory in itself. “Was was she like?”

“A damn hurricane,” he said, smiling to himself. “Sin on cowboy boots, I’d tell you. She could kill you without batting an eyelash and you’d be grateful for it still. Or I would. Got the brains too.” 

“How did you get a woman like that to marry you?” 

“Fucking don’t know,” he ran his hand through his hair. How did he, anyhow? She was the best thing that had ever happened to him and yet there he was. “It’s been seven years and I’m still wondering about that to this day.”

Moira said nothing, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t tell what was running through her mind, but the shock of the revelation was enough to curb the tears. She sighed. 

“For what is worth, I’m sorry,” she shrugged. “Is she alive?”

“I guess. I don’t know,” he shrugged. He didn’t know why he actually even started talking about it in the first place, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was there - tip of the tongue, forefront of his mind, as it had always been for the past seven years. “I had to leave her behind. It was either that or we’d all end up meeting the Lord through a hangman’s noose.”

“What happened?”

What had happened? Too much love, too much blood, too much violence, too much of the right person at the possible worst time. Red eyes, soft skin and kisses tasting like promises and summer sunsets. He wished he could’ve crawled inside of her and lived there for the rest of his life, shrouded in her warmth and the absolute safety of her heart, but there was no going back from the choices he made. When he thought of her, he wanted to wish her happiness without him, or at the very least that she could’ve forgotten he even existed; every time he found himself in front of a church, thought, he was too selfish to pray for anything other than Ashe finding in her to forgive him for what he had done. Past, present, future, the ring on her finger, the love exchanged by twilight and the trust he lost at dawn. There wasn’t a single damned night he didn’t dream of her. 

“Well,” he said, lighting his cigarette and offering it to her, “Reyes happened.” 

She eyed the cigarette, his red-rimmed eyes, and lifted her hand to bring it to her mouth, inhaling the poison slowly. 

“Yeah,” she said, quietly, “I know.”

  
  
  


2060

If he had to describe happiness, he’d tell word for word about the summer spent on Ashe’s bed. 

He’d spell the silly nothings she whispered in his ear right before the sun broke the horizon, bringing forth morning and responsibilities. He’d draw a map of her body, in all its glory, showing all the places where he had been allowed to visit and places he couldn’t yet - or would never could, and that was fine too. He’d paint thousands of pictures of how poetic it was when the morning light fell on her eyes and she fluttered them open, smiling so beautifully he couldn’t help but greet her with a kiss. He’d write novels about the whirlwind of woman she was - toughening up with a gun in hand and melting into his arms. 

He never knew happiness would be this calm, however. It was delicate and frail, and he found himself enjoying parts of her he never thought it would be possible. The curve of her neck had a whole different meaning when he knew what it looked like when her breath hitched from anticipation, the arch of her spine carrying galaxies he could only see with the telescope of her love. The slow way she blinked when she was tired, even as her voice gave nothing away, or the soft tremble of her fingers when she had one too many cups of coffee. She hummed while combing her hair, and would moan when he ran his fingers through her scalp, unashamed and loving. 

And when the nightmares kicked in, or when sometimes she found herself somewhere else that not in the moment with him, he knew exactly how to coax her back with love. That was hers to take, and had always been - he figured if he could choose, he’d do it all again just so he could see her soft smiles and feel her chest rising and falling against his. 

He loved her. He loved her with every fiber of his being, with every breath he took. He eyed her reading the newspaper on the kitchen counter, coffee in hand as she swiped idly on her tablet - hair falling over one shoulder, shirt too big for her own body and letting the shape of her collarbones peek through; a shadow of a love bite he left there a couple days prior, lost in the madness and pleasure of her. She bit her lower lip, tapping her fingers on the countertop, and he realized that was it. There would never be someone else in his life that he could love as much as he loved Ashe. 

And he was okay with that. 

“Whatcha’ staring at?” she asked, idly stirring her coffee. On the horizon, the monsoon thunderstorm clouds gathered together, harboring the end of summer. 

“You,” he said, simply, reaching for her hand. 

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Found something you like?” 

“Oh yeah,” he answered, “The love of my life.”

  
  
  


“You two look absolutely  _ disgusting, _ ” Emmett said, groaning. Ashe rolled her eyes, but he laughed, taking another sip of his beer. Under the bar table, their linked hands filled his heart with promise. 

“Don’t be  _ that _ guy,” Cormac boomed, laughing heartily. “It’s young love! Let the lil’ birds get lovin’. You know that had been a long time coming.” 

“Could we just- not?” Ashe said. Her voice sounded annoyed, and her face looked annoyed, but he could see the slightest bit of pink on the tips of her ears as a telltale sign she was actually embarrassed. “You promised us some good stuff to get me out of the house in this rain, and you better deliver, Emmett.”

“Ah, crap. Yeah. I got lead of a good heist, just a bit north of the border with Mexico,” he said, crossing his arms. “Nothing serious, just some good weapons and shit. Since summer is almost over and the heists get worse during winter, figured if you wanted to have a try.”

“I’m in,” he answered, idly. He didn’t even think about it - he trusted Emmett, and he needed the exercise. Ashe squeezed his hands tightly, pondering. 

“I’m not sure,” she said. “We just did a very risky heist on a very high-profile military facility. We got some good money and I’m not even done selling everything. We’ve got ourselves enough to last the winter and  _ then _ some. I think we’re better laying low. Jesus, do you guys smell something rotten?” 

“Not me,” McCree shrugged, and Cormac nodded - Ashe sniffed the air, still not convinced, but decided to leave it at that. 

“It’s not about the money, doll,” Emmett winked, “It’s about the  _ thrill _ . We go too long without a heist, we go soft. Gotta keep the muscles guessing.”

“That’s not enough reason,” she said, dryly. “We are spending resources, money and effort on a heist we don’t need just so you guys can feel more manly while shooting things? I don’t think so. In fact, thinking on it,” she leaned back, pulling her hand free from McCree’s grasp to cross her arms, “I think it’s a really bad idea. Call it gut feeling or whatever. I don’t think we should go.” 

“I say we vote,” Cormac said, “From me, it’s a yes.”

“I said yes already,” McCree shrugged. Ashe eyed him with daggers in her eyes, and he winked at her. 

“I guess you’re outnumbered, Miss,” Emmett said, and Ashe rolled her eyes, downing her bottled water as if it was whiskey on the rocks. The bar music was loud, the lights were dim. Ashe was angry, but he smiled and reached for her knee - it was impressive how easily they melt into each other. He had never felt anything like it. 

“We’ve beaten Overwatch,” Cormac added. “What can go wrong?”

“You see, that’s how I know it’s getting fucked up,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Whatever. It’s your funeral, after all.”

  
  


When he left the shower, Ashe was sitting on the bed, tarot cards spread all over the duvet, book on her lap and her chin resting on her hand as she read intently. He toweled his hair dry, eyeing her - worn out short pajama pants and one of his shirts, damp hair in a bun wetting her back. He tsked, throwing his towel over his shoulder and sitting by her side on the bed, pulling her hair free from where it was trapped. 

“Hey!” she protested,” What are you  _ doing _ ?” 

“Saving you from a cold,” he answered, squeezing the white strands with the towel until he squeezed as much water as he could. “What are  _ you _ doin’?”

“Looking at this weird ass gift I got,” she said, raising the book - its brown cover looked as unappealing as the whole subject seemed to him. “I even bought a book to understand it.”

“Holistic Tarot,” McCree read, raising an eyebrow and putting the towel to the side, lazily braiding her hair down. “‘An Integrative Approach to Using Tarot for Personal Growth’. Wow, Ashe. You just suddenly turned into a suburban soccer mom-”

“Shut up-” she giggled, hitting him with the hardcover. 

“Into organic foods for your kids, callin’ managers and shit, not really sold on vaccines but your husband really got some common sense so you just go with it-”

“As  _ if _ ,” she laughed. He kissed her shoulder and she sighed, leaning back into him as she rounded up the cards spread on the bed into a neat deck. “I’ll have you know I have more common sense than my husband, thank you. What is that  _ smell? _ ”

“Shampoo?” He said, sniffing his own hair. It smelled like nothing, really, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“Is it new? It smells hideous,” she said, wrinkling her nose. He thought it was so lovely, he had to kiss it right on its upturned tip. 

“Didn’t think it had much of a smell, but I’ll give it to Terran if you hate it that much,” he shrugged. “Besides, I never said you didn’t have more common sense than I do,” he said. “I was just paintin’ a picture. You do have the bone structure for the whole soccer mom, trophy wife type of life.”

“The bone structure- holy  _ shit _ , Jesse,” she choked on her laughter, eyes filling with tears. “Oh my  _ God _ . That was the  _ worst _ burn I’ve ever gotten.” 

“Aim to please,” he tipped an imaginary hat. “What has your soccer mom book told you so far? Can the cards predict how well lil’ Courtney or somethin’ will go on her AP American History test?” 

“Fucking-  _ stop _ it,” she giggled, slapping his thigh and wiping tears from her eyes. “I’d never have a kid named Courtney. Goddamn it.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you name your kid?” 

“I don’t think I’d ever even have kids, Jesse,” she said, softly. “I told you this before. I’d be a fucking  _ hideous _ mom.” 

“Not buyin’ it,” he said, kissing the side of her neck. “Why is that?”

“Because the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she said. The weight of it was heavy, suddenly, and he eyed her intently. 

“Well, you rolled away, didn’t you?” He said. “And now you can start a whole new tree for the apple to fall from. Besides, someone  _ else  _ besides you must’ve been worth something in your family, no?” 

She paused, biting her lower lip. Summer was coming to an end, and the weather was thick, electricity building up as the monsoon thunderstorms threatened to spill over the fragile tiles of their roof. He’d have to fix it, come winter, and it’d be as hideous as the lavender garden was. Ashe would pretend to be mad, and he’d pretend to make it up for her in the bedroom. Winter was looking pretty damn good, in his humble opinion. 

“There was my grandma,” she said, finally. “She died when I was six or so. Mother married up, but she married really down. Told my great-grandpa to shove it and moved to rural Texas with her husband. He was in the Airforce, I guess? Anyways, he was killed in action like a year or so after mom was born.”

“Did you like her?”

“I don’t remember much,” she shrugged. “What I do remember is that she was really a no-nonsense kind of woman. And she really liked me. I remember I was sad when she passed, but I don’t think she and my mom were in good terms. Too different. The  _ irony _ of it, isn’t it?” 

“There you go,” he offered. “Your ma was the bad apple on the tree, but the tree itself is fine. Little Tiffany has nothing to worry about.”

“I do hope you warmed up before this stretch, Jesse,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Call it a hunch, I don’t know. Besides, I can’t even control  _ you _ dumbasses when you wanna do a heist we’re clearly not ready for. How the hell am I going to raise a kid?” 

“Aw, Liz, we are ready,” he presses down on the muscles of her shoulders, feeling how tense they were. “We just need to  _ not _ lose the practice, you know?” 

“This isn’t football, McCree,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You don’t  _ practice _ , you  _ plan  _ it. And you plan a way out. We got nothing. Just because it’s in the middle of Fuckwhere, Arizona, doesn’t mean it can’t be dangerous. Remember that one time I had to patch you up in a motel room because you did the planning?”

“That was just once,” he rolled his eyes. “Check then. What do the cards say about this, oh great suburban middle class mother fortune teller?” 

“Fuck you,” she said, but shuffled the deck anyhow; he let his hands trail down her chest, fingers meeting one nipple over her shirt - her breath hitched, and she let out a soft yelp. 

“What? That sensitive?”

“Guess who’s to blame,” she glared at him, before turning the deck over and pulling a card from the middle. 

It was a tower being hit by lighting, snatching away a crown from its top - people fell from it towards the ground, their faces twisted in panic and surprise. Fire came out of its windows, and something on it - just its look, the sheer amount of destruction in it, all of it together brought a shiver to his spine. 

“The broken tower,” Ashe said, dryly. “Harbinger of unforeseen tragedy, symbol of destructive upheaval. Well fucking  _ done _ , you all. I told you I’m not weeping on your funeral.”

“It’s just a fucking card, Ashe,” he said, pulling the deck off her hands and placing it on her makeshift bedside table. “It means nothing.”

“Aw, come on,” Ashe cooed. “You’re gonna tell me you’re not even a little bit superstitious?”

“It don’t mean anything,” he said, simply. How many offerings, bets and prayers to save his mother he had made? If there was anything supernatural in this world, it took pleasure in seeing him suffer. He shook his head, chasing the thoughts away. “We’re good, alright? It’s gonna be alright. Besides,” he pushed her delicately towards the pillow, fingers finding its way inside her shirt, “ _ someone _ told me I’m making her sensitive, so I just have to understand what’s goin’ on here.”

“Oh yeah?” She laughed when he pulled her shirt over her head, fingers delicately kneading the soft skin of her breasts. She hissed, hand on his wrist. “Careful there, cowboy.”

“Oh, I will,” he winked, “Just gonna check something real quick here. For research.”

“Strictly scientific reasons, I see.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, lowering himself, “Definitely.  _ Science _ .”

  
  


It took them a day and a half to reach the warehouse they were supposed to rob. Dawn was already taking over, the sky blood red and purple as if beaten into a bloody pulp when they arrived, reflecting off of Ashe’s hair in such a way that he thought she had hurt herself on their way. He shook his head - her anxiety was rubbing off on him, and that was the last thing he needed before storming some place in the middle of the desert, gun in hand. 

The place itself was nondescript. Finding it was difficult, but breaking in wasn’t at all - the building was old, rusty hinges and rotting wood barely standing up on its own. There were many just like these scattered around the country - after the war, they just became abandoned and home for squatters and bandits, both of which he happened to be. And yet. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see a tower being struck by lightning, and a couple falling down, down,  _ down- _

The door gave away as soon as Emmett pushed it ever so slightly, shrouding the three of them in the moldy darkness of their target. 

“There we go,” Ashe said, dryly. “I hope we find something good in here.”

“Promise you we will,” Emmett said, fishing a flashlight from his pocket- 

Before he could turn it on, there was a hissing sound, a sharp pain on his neck, and nothingness greeted him as an old friend. 

  
  
  


He saw the sterile lights blinding him before he even opened his eyes - piercing through the delicate skin of his eyelids, waking him up from a groggy sleep. He groaned, his head pounding and ears filled with cotton, and raised his hand to support his head-

He couldn’t. 

He opened his eyes, panicked. His arms were strapped to the sides of a chair, his neck supported by a strange contraption on its backrest - he couldn’t see what it was, tied as tightly as she was. There was a stainless steel table right in front of him, a large mirror on the wall;  _ interrogation room _ , his mind provided, and he felt blood rushing through his ears as he realized the cops had caught up on him- 

But as he stared straight in front of him and saw the man sprawled on the chair, he knew deep in his heart that whatever it was, it was far worse than the cops. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” the man said - his voice was commanding, and his skin tanned and worn as leather. McCree swallowed, opening and closing his hands in order to regain some feeling. “Sorry about the whole sleeping dart thing, by the way. I had a feeling you wasn’t the type to come willingly if I asked.” 

“Hm,” he groaned, unable to get his tongue to move. His throat was dry and his lips felt chapped. 

“Will get you some water in a bit,” the man said, leaning back on his chair. “Before then, I was hoping we could talk for a bit. I’ve heard a  _ lot _ about you.” 

McCree blinked once, then twice, clearing his throat. The room was sterile white and empty, barely any sort of texture on the wall. He had a fleeting thought he was dreaming, but he didn’t remember going to bed - he was out with Ashe and Emmett, and they were storming a warehouse-

“Where is Ashe?” He asked, and the urgency of the question was lost on his slurring. 

“Your girlfriend? She’s-”

“Wife,” he corrected. He may be fucking up for himself, but he didn’t get married for nothing. 

“Ah, I see,” the man said. “Well, your  _ wife _ is safe. Didn’t take too well to being left alone-”

“Oh no,” McCree said. Ashe being sedated and locked up in a room all my herself harbored bad news; he remembered a shattered mirror and an ivory skin tinted deep red with the bruises on her hands- 

“She’s fine,” he rolled his eyes. “Keep your focus here, kid. You’re gonna need it.” 

“Who  _ are _ you?” he asked, finally. 

“Ah, yeah, forgive my manners,” the man said, nodding slightly. “Commander Reyes, from the Blackwatch. You aren’t supposed to have heard of me because I’m half decent at my job.”

“Blackwatch-” he muttered, wondering where did he hear that first. His brain was still waking up, and he rarely was sharp right after sleeping. 

“Yeah, like Agent Lipovetsky. Whom you’ve sent home, by the way, in a very sorry state.” 

McCree winced. He had shot Natalie and turned back, not willing to see what he had done; he had no idea how ugly a corpse he had made her. 

“I’m sorry?” He offered, and Reyes scoffed. 

“Don’t be,” he said, linking his fingers together and placing his hands on the stainless steel tabletop. “I have a feeling, Jesse McCree, that you didn’t want to kill my agent at  _ all _ . Your shot hit the lower part of her spine, but our medical team got it fixed in no time. She sends her regards.” 

Natalie was  _ alive _ . The relief and the confusion were too great for him to comprehend - he leaned back on whatever it was holding his neck in place, sighing. 

“Okay,” McCree said. “Then, what?” 

“I’m gonna be honest with you here, kiddo,” Reyes said. California dripped so heavily from his words, McCree swore he could taste the sea breeze and ocean salt as he spoke. “We got a kill order on you for fucking up our cargo back in Las Vegas. It wasn’t really the guns, you see, but a  _ specific _ gun. You know Mercy?” 

“The Overwatch agent?” McCree asked, dumbly. “Yeah?” 

“The caduceus blaster you stole belonged to her,” he said, “and she definitely doesn’t like her things being stolen. We had been trying to track you for  _ ages _ , ever since Lipovetsky returned, but the blaster was a beacon of light. So.”

“Fucking hell,” McCree answered - mostly because he had nothing else he could’ve said instead. The heist was a trap and they all fell for it like woodland creatures desperate for food. 

“Indeed,” Reyes said, fishing a cigarette from his back pocket. “Do you mind?” 

McCree shook his head, mouth watering as Reyes lit it up and the smell of smoke filled the room. 

“Commander Morrison thinks the Deadlock is too much of a problem and wanted you wiped out of the map,” he said, exhaling warm smoke through his nose. “However, I don’t see a problem. I see an  _ opportunity _ .” 

“If you want me to ditch Ashe to join whatever it is Blackwatch is, appreciate it, but no, thanks,” McCree said, dryly. He hoped Ashe would say the same. 

“Nah, son. You’re gonna listen to me real close now,” he leaned closer on the table, eyes boring holes on his own. “Because your asses are on the line, but you can save your Missus if you work it out with me.”

McCree said nothing, merely eyed him. He took another deep inhale, holding it down slightly - the effort stretched the deep creases of the scars on his face, made them look like canyons on the Arizona desert. 

“Tell me,” Reyes said, leaning back in his chair, “You know what Talon is?”

The name wasn’t odd. He rolled it around his tongue, trying to recall. 

“Terrorist somethin’?” He answered, and groaned. “Whatever you knocked me out with made scrambled eggs up in here.” 

“It’ll go away,” Reyes said, absently. “But you’re not wrong. They are a terrorist organization with an alarming level of strategic planning. I’d say they are bigger threats to the world than the omnics, and I don’t take that lightly. You remember the war, son?”

“Bits and pieces,” he said. Fire, blood and hunger on his belly; the feelings were more intense than the actual memories he had. 

“Whatever you remember, they are worse,” Reyes said. “Usually, they act up on western Europe, Italy. That whole region. But lately, they have become cozy with an organization called Los Muertos-”

“I fucking  _ knew  _ it-” he said, leaning back. Of  _ course _ the Muertos wouldn’t do a freelance job on a heist that could get them rich. Of fucking  _ course _ . Ashe would bite Emmett’s head clean off when she learned of this. 

“You know them?”

“Kinda,” he grunted. 

“Well, they seem to know you,” Reyes crossed his arms, staring him down. “The gunslinger by the bitch’s side. Bitch, of course, I’d take to be your wife. Not really liked in the criminal underworld, is she?” 

“As much as you’d be, I’d guess,” he said, dryly, and to his surprise Reyes one laughed - a bark of sound, rough and calloused like he himself was. But a laughter nonetheless. 

“Got me there,” he said, winking. “Whatever she did, she’s got them both annoyed and dead scared of her.”

“That’s Ashe,” he shrugged. The bottom of his stomach felt cold - he couldn’t tell where the conversation was going, but he could definitely say he wouldn’t like it at all. 

“See, this is it,” Reyes said, elbows on the table. “The Muertos won’t dare crossing Deadlock territory because they are too scared of Ashe. But they help you land right on Overwatch’s arms, when Morrisson has been bitching for  _ ages _ about the cargos you’ve been stealing. He wants you all either arrested or killed, but I thought better. See where I’m going?”

_ Not at all _ , McCree thought, but said nothing - Reyes took his silence for a negative and leaned back in his chair. 

“Talon won’t wait long, though. If they come down on you, they will come down on you. My  sources tell me it’s only a matter of time before they take matters into their own hands. And when they do, son,” he stared him down, unyielding, unrelenting, and McCree felt as small as a three year old under his commanding gaze. This was not a man you said no to. “No one will be able to save you from the hell your death will be.” 

They were silent, then. McCree thought about it, but the thought of coming back home to find nothing but bodies felt as a dagger to the heart. He felt his blood draining from his face, shifting in his seat as much as he could within his bindings. 

“And what’s your offer?” 

“That’s simple,” Reyes said. “Ashe stays exactly where she is. I’d really prefer for her  _ not _ to blow up Overwatch cargo, but as long as she keeps the territory, she’ll get full Overwatch protection. As far as we’re concerned, she’s as good as any other partner we have, keeping the Muertos and Talon at bay.”

“Okay,” he said, dreading the question already sprouting from his lips. “And what’s in it for you?” 

“Me? Oh, well,” Reyes shrugged. “I want you in the team.”

“ _ What? _ ” McCree said, incredulously, eyes so wide he thought they’d burst at the seams. “You want  _ me _ to join fuckin’  _ Overwatch _ ?!”

“Not Overwatch, son,” Reyes said, calmly. “Blackwatch. We do what Overwatch can’t. We see what Overwatch won’t. No spotlight and no recognition, but a lot of horrible work that needs to be done by someone. You, specifically, will help target Talon. Once it is done, you can come back to Arizona and live out happily ever after.”

“Sir, you’ll excuse me, but that’s a whole lotta bulshit,” McCree said, voice trembling. “Why  _ me _ ? Ashe is the best one out of the two of us. Why do you want  _ me? _ ”

Reyes said nothing, merely eyed him intently - Unable to move, he felt his toes twitching inside his boots, averting his eyes to avoid the scrutiny. After a long moment, he finally spoke. 

“You know,” he tapped on the tabletop, seemingly lost in thought. “Usually execution shots are on the back of the neck. You didn’t do that to Natalie. Actually, you turned your face away when you aimed downwards, didn’t you?”

“How do you-”

“I know a shot that doesn’t want to kill,” he answered. “But what got me thinking was that you turned  _ away _ . She said she heard you muttering you couldn’t look at it. The shot shouldn’t hit her at  _ all _ , but not only it did, it hit her straight on the spine, right where it would render her useless but just until she got medical attention. I thought about that enough to realize that it’s just because you could bullseye anything with that peacekeeper of yours even if you had your eyes closed, and I want that ability on my team. In fact,” he said, grinning so much there was a gleam of madness on his lips. “I want it so much, I decided to forego orders of my direct superiors to strike a deal with you.”

McCree didn’t say anything, licking his chapped lips and feeling his pounding heart drumming away on the roof of his mouth, in his ears, on the curve of his neck. 

“Why would I believe you?” he said, weakly. They both knew who had won the debate. “You sent an agent once to kill us. Why would I trust you on this?” 

“Because I have evidence,” he said, turning to the mirror - which wasn’t a mirror, it was a screen, lighting up deep blue as it loaded whatever video Reyes saw fit to show him. “Natalie wasn’t the only agent we sent to keep an eye on you lot. Agent Schmitt, however, got caught by Talon operatives to spill what he knew about you before they- well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s part of the job description. You’re not queasy about torture, are you?” 

Before he could answer, the bloody face of Officer Reynolds - or, at least, the man he thought was and officer named Reynolds - showed up on the screen, beaten and bloody, and Reyes pressed play. 

It took McCree five minutes until he vomited the contents of his stomach all over himself. 

  
  


“Tell me he’s lying.” 

He didn’t have an answer as Ashe burst out of the interrogation room herself. He was leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, trembling fingers shaking the ash off the burning tip. She looked wild - hair sticking in every direction, makeup running down her face, but her eyes were so angry he could swear she would smite him where he stood. Before the door shut close, he could see Reyes eyeing her with something between admiration and dumbfounded respect. 

He didn’t have an answer, however. Reynold’s screams on the short footage he found were still ringing in his ears, and no matter how much he tried to avoid it, he couldn’t help but seeing Ashe in that position, being tortured beyond recognition. 

“I can’t  _ fucking  _ believe you!” She shrieked at his silence. He said nothing, merely staring at his feet. “He’s fucking with you, Jesse! I cannot believe you’re gonna fall for this  _ again- _ ” 

“You didn’t see what I saw,” he said, quietly. “Did you know Officer Reynolds is dead?” 

That gave her pause - she raised one eyebrow, trying to comb her hair back into place with her fingers. 

“I didn’t,” she said, slightly surprised. “Why is this even relevant?” 

“Because he was an Overwatch agent and he was tortured to death because he refused to tell Talon where you were,” he said. The images were still vivid in his mind - he tried to shake it off, but it only made it more vivid. The red of her smudged lipstick made his stomach fold into itself.“Right after Christmas.” 

“Oh boy,” she said, leaning on the opposite wall. The hallway they were in had no windows, made of concrete blocks with a thin layer of white painted on them. It was claustrophobic and boiling hot, but also disorienting. He had no idea where he was, and his skin crawled at the thought. Ashe held her head in her hands, groaning loudly. 

“What is it?” he asked, worriedly. 

“Fucking-” She said, “B.O.B’S locator keeps fucking’- Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ. It’s going haywire because he can’t find me, and it’s so fucking  _ loud _ , I swear I’m even nauseous-”

“Shit, Ashe,” he said, “Let’s just- You gotta get out of here.” 

“Well yeah, but apparently,  _ someone decided to join fucking Overwatch! _ ” She yelled, shoving her index finger on his chest so hard he could swear there was a whole on his sternum. “Are you fucking out of your mind?!”

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said. “I’m  _ trading- _ ” 

“That’s why I do the trading, Jesse, oh my  _ God _ !” She exploded, throwing her hands up the air. “You’re supposed to trade things of equal value! You’re gonna be an indentured fucking servant in exchange for what, exactly?” 

“Your safety,” he said. 

The words were heavy, air thick with tension. Ashe rolled her eyes and shoulders, trying to make sense out of it. 

“I don’t need you to sell yourself over to the cops just so I can be safe,” she said. “I’m a grown ass woman and I can make my own choices.”

“And I’m a grown ass man and I can make my own choices too,” he said. “And I made the choice to go with them for a while for the resources to kill whoever wants your head on a spike. Is that too difficult to understand?” 

“It fucking is!” She barked. “I don’t need fucking  _ protection, _ Jesse! I’m not some- some fucking porcelain doll on the shelf you need to protect at each cost. I can fucking handle this.  _ We _ can handle this!”

“I don’t think-” he paused, choked at the influx of images running through his eyes. Reynolds on the chair, wailing in pain as he-

Ashe on the chair, wailing as they-

The blood on his eyes, the red of her lips, the blood on her hair, the anger on his lips-

He felt as if he was going to be sick all over again, and he leaned back on the wall, taking shallow breaths. He couldn’t. This wasn’t up for debate - if he could save Ashe from that fate, he would. 

“I don’t think you get what exactly we’re up against, baby girl,” he whispered. “It’s beyond everything we’ve-”

“Right. It’s difficult. It’s  _ impossible. _ So you’re gonna go away and they  _ promised _ you’d get back once this Talon shit is taken care of. Okay, what if it takes years? What if it takes  _ forever _ ? What if you die before you can do that? What am I supposed to fucking do, Jesse?!”

“Stay safe,” he answered, simply- 

Ashe turned around. 

And punched the concrete. 

“Liz!”

“You’re so goddamn  _ stubborn _ !” She shrieked. Her knuckles were bloody and bruised, but she didn’t seem to care. “Who’s to guarantee anything? Why are you even  _ considering  _ this? Am I supposed to just- fucking sit back and wait until you play hero and come back home? Because I ain’t about to put my life on hold for you to-”

“Then don’t,” he said, gravely. She eyed him, stunned, mouth hanging open at his answer.

“ _ What? _ ”

“I’d rather have you safe than sign our death certificates by staying. Not teaming up with Overwatch will get the  _ both _ of us killed, and everyone else too. If I go, I can make sure we’ll at least have a fighting chance. Ashe,” he called her when she turned away from him - her could still see the tears threatening to spill, however, and took a step closer. “Babe.”

“Don’t fucking-”

“You said if I needed to leave, you’d let me leave,” he said, quietly. “Let me leave, Liz. Please.”

She eyed him - hurt, betrayal, anger, eyes as sharp as razors filled with broken-hearted tears. He could see her heart breaking in front of him, and he hated himself for it. 

“You could’ve started with the truth, then,” she said, hoarsely. “Why do you want to leave, McCree?” 

That was it - the final moment. It was his choice to make, break her heart and keep her safe, or stay and watch her die. It was crystal clear on his head, as clear water on a stream, as clear as the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Let it never be said he was a coward, but he definitely felt like one. Staying would save her love but would be nearly impossible to win. 

And for all he liked the challenge, he also liked playing safe. 

“It’s just too much to bear,” he said, the lie rolling through his lips as bitter as the winter wind carrying death and solitude. “I can’t handle- all of it just, it’s too much to deal with-”

“What, Jesse?” She asked, but they both knew the answer before he gave it away. 

“You.”

He could hear her heart breaking as her lips fell slightly apart, the shock and pain he inflicted rushing through his ears. He had sealed his fate, and questioned if he had made the right choice when he reached for her and she recoiled as if his hands were burning iron rods, punishment delivered or just materialized suffering. 

“Liz-”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, dryly. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“I promise I’ll write.”

“I don’t want you to write. In fact, I don’t want to know anything about you at  _ all _ ,” she spit, staring him straight in the eyes. In that moment he saw it, what the Muertos were so scared of, what Talon wanted so badly - that fortress of a person, exuding power and anger and hurt all at once, ready to burst the Babel tower so no nation could ever live in peace. “Because if you’re willing to step so low to get what you want, McCree, then I don’t want you in my life at  _ all. _ ” 

“Ashe-”

“Fool me once, shame on you,” she shook her head, humourlessly laughing. “And I let you fool me the second time around. I guess that’s on me. But you ain’t ever fucking with me again, McCree,” she said - a promise and a threat, all at once. “If you set foot on Deadlock territory again, you can be fucking sure you won’t get out of here with your head in once piece.”

“Are you  _ exiling _ me?!” He asked, stunned. “Ashe, come on-”

“No, McCree. I am wiping you out from  _ existence _ . Forget that you ever even knew me.” 

He felt it then - when his own heart broke too, shattered into smithereens, never to be put together again. He thought this would be easier, but how much of a fool was he to think he could come out of this unscathed? That his heart, so deeply bound to hers, would stay intact after what he said? He widened his eyes in realization - love is a double-edged sword, and he had just shoved it right through his sternum. The audacity, the arrogance - it would be his downfall sooner or later, but now it was a testament to his loneliness. 

But it was too late - too late to apologize, too late to stop himself from saying what he did, and too late to back out on it, and as she kicked the interrogation room open and signed to Reyes with her head, he knew that no matter how good the next years of his life would be, everything would be washed out by the pain he inflicted on the person he loved the most in his entire life. 

“I hope you’re happy,” she said, voice strained. “He’s all yours.” 

He tried to get a look at her - one last look before he left. But as Reyes stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, patting him on the shoulder and leading him away from the maze of hallways they were in, he knew this was how he would remember her for years to come. 

“You made the right choice, son,” Reyes said, gravely. “Sometimes the people we love don’t get the sacrifices we’d be willing to make for them.” 

“Yeah,” he said, weakly, stepping outside for the first time as a hero but feeling every inch the coward he thought he was leaving behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and shit just hit the fan lmao 
> 
> see you in two weeks!


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: there is some heavy cursing in this one, be warned

_ Nothing else ever seems to hurt like the smile on your face _

_ When it's only in my memory, it don't hit me quite the same _

_ Maybe it's a cause for concern, but I'm not at ease _

 

The thunder rolling outside was so loud it shook the warehouse, but the real storm was inside. 

Ashe knew it. She knew her mere presence was lighting and hailstorm, frown so deeply etched into her face she felt as if she was sculpted that way, a masterpiece in anger and betrayal. She knew it because of the silence that followed her on the days after McCree left, as if no one dared to speak or breathe near her for fear of setting her off. She knew it because she could taste it, as much as she could taste the monsoon weather leaving to invite winter back with its biting cold and its bitter loneliness, the fear and the sweat and the absence, and as August rolled into September, she knew winter would come, as inevitable as death, and dry all the lavenders in her garden once more. 

Except this time, she’d be the only one left to pick up what was left behind. 

  
  


When Ashe was a child, before her grandmother died, her mother used to leave her at her home on weekends or even weeks on end, as she and her father travelled up and down the world doing whatever it was they did that had no space for Ashe. Where before she had a vague idea, now there was a solid picture, like a movie or a photograph, sharp as a knife and clear as crystal.

She could see her grandmother stomping around the kitchen, clearly dissatisfied at her daughter while feeding her granddaughter cakes and sweet breads and candies on end. She’d run her stiletto red nails through Ashe’s scalp lightly, wrap her thin arms around her as they watched TV, show her pictures of her late husband while telling stories of times long past. She had silver-gray hair always elegantly wrapped in a twist, but did not hesitate on getting down on the carpeted floor to draw pictures and play with dolls. It was like a reprieve from her daily life of being ignored by her parents, and she absolutely adored Grandma Evangeline. 

It was weird, looking back on it, how much she had forgotten in order to hide the trauma from herself. She had forgotten her grandmother’s soft hands and no nonsense eyes, the worn wood of her suburban house, so wildly different from the behemoth mansion she called home - the warmth of her arms, the feeling of sleeping on her lap, of feeling like she could take up space. And yet, as she sat in her garden, eyeing the lavenders sway under the last remnants of summer, one memory stood out the brightest -  Her grandmother sitting across from her, slicing a rainbow cake Ashe herself had helped make, when her phone rang; it was Ada, and her grandmother promptly silenced the call. 

“What was it, Nana?” Ashe had asked, small legs dangling above the floor. 

“Your ma. I swear, I don’t know what I did wrong with that one. Ain’t got two brain cells to rub against each other,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “She damn well knew what she was marrying into. I told her, you know that’s a nest of wasps, don’t you? And now every time your dad- Well.”

“My dad?”

“Doesn’t matter, sugar pie,” her grandma said. “That’s grown up talk. Boring stuff. You’ll get to do it yourself in time, but now I’m gonna give you an advice and you’ll listen to it real close, okay?”

She nodded, as gravely as a five year-old could. 

“You weren’t born with a wolf in your chest to howl over losing a man,” she said. “You get me?”

“I don’t,” Ashe answered, sincerely, and Evangeline’s laughter filled the room - as her own presence did, soaking all who stood next to her in warmth, love and power. 

“You’ll do when the time comes,” she said, running the tips of her nails on her scalp and laughing when Ashe’s eyes rolled closed in appreciation. “But right now, you only worry about eating this piece of cake, okay? I’ll go put lavender in your pillowcase so you can go to bed.” 

“Okay, Nana,” she answered, blissfully unaware the next few years would drain her of all the innocence and love she once had to offer. 

 

It had been two weeks since McCree left. 

She hadn’t dared to set foot inside the warehouse. Instead, she rented a motel room for the month, trying to make herself at home and failing miserably. It wasn’t by lack of trying - she’d come so far as to sit on the garden, but trying to actually open the door still felt too raw. The triplets had gotten her clothes and things from her bathroom, and she decided that once she felt no more need to set the whole place on fire to erase the slightest trace of McCree ever having existed, she’d go back. Not a moment sooner, and she wasn’t about to budge on it for anyone else’s sake. 

For that reason, the emergency meeting Cormac had called was being held on the diner. In hindsight, it was a poor choice of location - the smell of old grease and motor oil made her stomach backflip, and the sight of the cheese-dipped fries the triplets were eagerly shoving in their mouths got her nearly gagging. B.O.B sensed her distress and kept offering her napkins and sips of water. For an omnic that wasn’t allowed to have the basic interaction with his charge, he was way too observant for his own good. 

“So,” Cormac said, crossing his arms over his large stomach. Jenna, his wife, was sitting by his side as still as a rock, electric-blue eyes swaying from Ashe’s nauseous face to Emmett’s anxious frown. 

“So,” Emmett said. “We have a plan to rescue McCree or are we just sitting on our asses here?” 

“Excuse me?” Ashe said, raising an eyebrow. “We aren’t  _ rescuing _ anyone unless we get a good bounty out of it, and ain’t no gold enough in this world for me to move a finger to help that son of a bitch.” 

“Ashe, come on,” Emmett rolled his eyes. “I get you’re angry and all, but McCree is one of our own-”

“He isn’t,” Ashe said, dryly. “Not anymore. He made his choice and he  _ left _ . If this is why you called this meeting, Cormac, then I’m gonna walk the fuck away. God knows what happened when ya’ll tried to do some planning without me.” 

Cormac swallowed his whiskey in one swift go, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired and disheveled, and she could see Jenna rubbing circles on his knee in reassurance. Ashe looked away - she was nauseated enough without having to witness someone else’s love. 

“I called this meeting to discuss McCree, yes,” he said. “Because I think we can all agree McCree left a hole in our safety that we can’t bear to fix. We need to regroup-”

“We need to go  _ after _ him,” Emmett insisted, slamming his fist on the table. The wood shook under his hand, neighboring tables trying very hard not to stare at the obvious criminals discussing in the diner. “I can’t believe we’re actually discussing  _ what _ we should do. He’d do it for all of us, goddamn it! We  _ have _ to help him-”

“Emmett, I swear to God, if you don’t fucking  _ shut up-” _

“What are you gonna do, huh? Because the worst those- fuckers already did!” Emmett yelled, standing up so fast his chair nearly toppled backwards. “First time I met Blackwatch they did things to me I don’t think I could repeat to my momma’s corpse in her grave. You think you’re the only one who’s got fucked over, Ashe? Because you  _ ain’t _ !”

“Sit down, Emmett,” Cormac said, glaring around to ward off anyone who tried to peek into their conversation and slamming his huge hand on Emmett’s back until his knees buckled over and he fell back to his chair. “What are you trying to imply?”

“That they must’ve confused him somehow,” Emmett said, avoiding Ashe’s gaze. ”They must’ve-”

“They didn’t,” Ashe said, dryly. “I don’t know why  _ you’re _ the one in denial, but  _ I _ was the one who saw him. He talked to  _ me _ , and then left hand in hand with that Blackwatch guy, Reyes.  _ He _ was the one who told me he was tired of this life and that he needed to go.”

“You must’ve gotten it wrong,” Emmett said. “You couldn’t keep a straight head. Too emotional-”

“What in the actual  _ fuck _ are you on about?!” Ashe shrieked. 

“I ain’t trying to-”

“Have you  _ forgotten  _ who the fuck I am?” She said, shoving her finger on his face, “Because I’m the fucking  _ partner _ in this operation. I keep the books and I’m the cell leader and McCree got far more credit than what he actually deserves.  _ I _ gave him far more credit than what he’ll ever deserve, because he was just a hired fucking gun. You know how many fucking expendable gunslingers I can hire with a low level heist?!”

“And how many would you fuck, huh, Ashe?” He asked.

Ashe froze on the spot, eyeing him in disbelief - her fingers itched for her gun, her hands longed for boring one bullet-hole shaped gaping hole right on his nose. Something cold froze her spine, and she widened her eyes, ready to rip his jugular open with the butter knife next to her water glass- 

But her mind reeled to a halt, and she eyed him - really eyed him; the bags under his red-rimmed eyes, five o’clock shadow and pursed lips. He looked worried, ashamed, and most of all, guilty, and Ashe finally,  _ finally  _  got it. 

The groaning. The dismissal. The side-eyed looks at the two of them together. 

“Oh, my  _ God _ ,” Ashe said, stunned, “You are  _ jealous _ .” 

Emmett’s face twisted into something grotesque and so hateful, Ashe immediately leaned away from him - sensing what was about to happen, Cormac stood up quickly, one large hand on his chest.

“Hey, Hey!” Cormac said, “What the fuck are both of you doing?”

“I ain’t doing nothing!” Emmett screamed, “She’s the one standing here saying that we should just let go of one of our own because she got dumped!”

“I can’t  _ believe _ this. All this time, I thought you were my  _ friend _ , and you were in love with McCree!” She hissed, shaking her head. “I thought I was going  _ crazy _ . You motherfucker, I thought I was going  _ insane _ . I told you how humiliated I was, how much of a burden he made me feel, I told you about my fucking  _ marriage, _ Emmett, and all you had to say was that I was overreacting!”

“He fucking gave us a lifetime free of the feds with his deal, Ashe!” Emmett yelled, “Just because  _ you  _ are an entitled motherfucker who thinks the world owes you  _ shit _ just because daddy didn’t give you a Gucci bag when you turned sixteen, doesn’t mean we all are!”

Ashe inhaled sharply, fingers searching for her gun. 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” she said, lowly. “Because guess the fuck what, he ain’t coming back, Emmett. He ain’t coming back because  _ he  _ wanted to leave, and if his fucking  _ wife _ wasn’t enough for him to stay, let alone a deadbeat mugger like  _ you _ -”

“And what good is his wife if she’s a fucking selfish cunt?” Emmett asked, eyes burning - Ashe laughed, dryly. 

“If wanna play this game,  _ fine _ ,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Because I can be selfish, yes, but you’re a damn  _ coward _ . You could’ve just asked him, you dumbass, because he’d say yes,” she saw it as it happened - Emmett’s eyes opening wide and the sound of his heart breaking inside his chest. The smell of old bacon fat was stuck on her nostrils, and if it weren’t for the sheer amount of rage burning in her chest, she would’ve gagged right on the table.

“You are one hell of a bitch,” he hissed, slamming the table once more. “You had a  _ genius _ in your hands, but all you could do was  _ waste _ him on your fucking sob story, because Mommy didn’t love you enough-”

“Goddamn it, you really should’ve asked!” she said, exhasperated, throwing her hands up in the air, “Because if you did, you’d be out of my case and with a mouth so full of dick you’d be fucking  _ quiet _ for once-” 

“Oh, yeah, because everything has to be about  _ you _ ,” he spit, “ _ Your  _ pain,  _ your _ bullshit! And we’re all supposed to  _ care? _ Do you even know pain, you selfish cunt? Or do you think pain is not getting some new shoes the moment you want them? How many older-”

That’s it, she thought, wrapping her fingers around the Viper. Emmett would get a .12 shaped hole right on his nose-

“She isn’t selfish, Emmett, she’s right,” Jenna said. Her voice was throaty and raspy, and more importantly, never used - Jenna was quiet, observant, and cunning, and the shock of hearing her speak up in her defense was so deep Ashe felt herself being snapped out of the spiral of doom inside her head. She wasn’t the only one, however - all of them, even the triplets, who were gleefully ignoring the drama unfolding in front of them in favor of their cheeseburgers, fell instantly silent when she spoke. 

“You only protect things that are weaker and more frail than you are,” she said, raising a manicured finger to point the french-tipped nail right on Emmett’s nose. “Ashe has a pussy and has twice the size of the balls he’ll ever have. Way I see it, he didn’t see her as an equal, and felt justified to make a decision about  _ our _ business without even consulting Ashe, who was his  _ boss,  _ mind you. So no,” she narrowed her kohl-lined eyes, “I don’t think he’s a genius. I think he was a charismatic farm boy who was good with a gun and got all of you wrapped around his finger, and we all forgot he was in fact just a mediocre weight on Ashe’s back. I think he’s selfish, he’s a coward, and he humiliated Ashe in the worst possible way someone can be humiliated, worse than whatever sexist bullshit is the one you’re pulling out of your ass right now, Emmett, because at the end of the day, McCree was just another name on our payroll and a very average one at that.”

She leaned forward, wrapping her fingers around her coffee cup, and eyed Emmett with such a hard stare Ashe could see his balls tighten in fear. “You’d do well remembering how this business is run, Emmett. Ashe is a partner, McCree isn’t, and his only value was that Ashe liked him, and now she doesn’t. We got a security problem to fix, alright. But if McCree wanted to fuck up the only thing that made him remotely useful to the gang, I say we let him.”

She leaned back in her chair, sipping on her coffee as if nothing had happened - but it did, and the silence was deafening around them. Emmett didn’t seem to know what to do to himself, the triplets eyed Jenna as if she was Satan incarnate, Cormac lowered the worst puppy eyes she’d ever seen, and Ashe- 

Ashe needed a drink. 

“I’ve had it for the day,” she said, standing up and motioning B.O.B to follow her. “We’ll talk security tomorrow, or whatever. Nice, uh. Yeah. Fuck you.”

  
  
  


She honest to God tried to get drunk, but the first gulp of the brandy in her motel room was the straw that broke the camel’s back - She vomited spectacularly all over herself. 

As she angrily showered to rinse all of it away, listening to B.O.B cleaning the mess she made on the carpet floor, she scrubbed at her skin with an outrageously pink loofah he had bought her during the week. Her arms, neck and chest were covered in small red blemishes made up of clustered burst capillaries. It had something to do with liver malfunction, and she had those when she was still laying heavy on the drink - it pissed her off to no end that a single sip of alcohol could get her like that. Her body was an upheaval of pain, nausea and irritation, the smell of her soap too citric on her nose for her to enjoy it. 

Ashe groaned, letting her head hang under the spray. Her breasts were so sore, she could barely handle the water on them - but it was the little angiomas that got her, a reminder of the self destruction she had wrought on herself. It was still too painful to think about, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than a deep, encompassing anger at the man she had dared to let herself love. She knew she should be upset, yes, and knew this time would come. But the mere thought of his face made her clench her fists in hatred. Winter was just around the corner, and here she was, back at square one; and as she stepped outside the shower, she couldn’t help but think if this is what her life would always come back to - being betrayed, being unable to forget, and being utterly alone. 

  
  


The next Deadlock meeting was set on Cormac’s home. Ashe didn’t want to go, but there was no avoiding it - she put on her best face of makeup, her sturdiest high heeled boots, and made sure to strap the Viper on her holster to quiet Emmett and his bullshit if it came down to it. 

When she arrived, however, she was surprised by Cormac’s sheepish, apologetic eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. His home was a big farmhouse, panelled wooden carvings all over the walls and intricate wooden tiles on the floor. There were many antlers decorating the ceiling, and the smell of wood and varnish was so strong, she had to hold over a gag. She didn’t know what was wrong - she had been to Cormac’s place many times before, and never felt anything out of the ordinary. Must be a recent varnish, she thought, and shrugged. 

“You didn’t say anything,” she said. 

“That’s exactly the point,” he said, and sighed. “Look, we were all- This has all hit us pretty hard. McCree leaving and all, you know how much I liked the boy. But none of us has a right to tell you how to feel, and he was  _ your _ partner, after all. Anyways, Jenna thinks I was an asshat, and I agree, so. Sorry?”

“It’s okay, Cormac,” she said, smiling softly. She liked him, and even more so, she liked his big heart - large enough to keep his big body working, and still welcome so many people inside. She could only aspire to be so loving. Maybe one day the jagged edges would wear off - maybe one day she’d find a way to mend her heart with something else other than hatred and anger. 

“Thank you,” he said, motioning her to sit on the couch. “Beer?”

“Ah, I’ll pass,” she said, waving a hand. The mere thought of alcohol was enough to get her stomach to complain. 

“Wise choice,” he winked. “Look, I know you might not really want to talk about it, but if you ever need anything-”

“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “I- thank you, Cormac. But it’ll be fine. It has to.”

“It has to,” he nodded - the doorbell rang, and he stood up to open it, welcoming Emmett and the triplets into the living room. They nodded politely at each other, unwilling to exchange any other words just yet. 

It happened so fast, however, she barely had a second to register. 

In one moment, they were all sitting around the room, spread around leather couches that smelled worn and musty. 

In the next, Cormac had opened a pack of cheeto puffs, and the smell hit her like a fucking nuke.

It was so repulsive she couldn’t even think - she immediately got up, tripping all over herself until she found the guest bathroom and emptied her guts on the toilet, heaving violently until the bland mac and cheese she had had for lunch was entirely inside the porcelain bowl. She spit, trying to chase away the terrible acidic taste of her own sickness and cringing at the sound echoing on the large bathroom, and was nearly considering to let herself lie down on the ceramic tiles of the floor just to cool off her warm cheeks when Jenna herself walked into the bathroom. 

And closed the door behind her. 

“Yeah, sorry about your, uh,” She waved on the toilet’s general direction, still holding its sides for dear life. “Caught a stomach bug or something.” 

“Stomach bug,” Jenna said, raising one particularly dark eyebrow, a complete mismatch to her bleach blond hair and orange spray tan. “Right. You think I was born yesterday, Ashe?” 

“Huh?” She asked, and Jenna rolled her eyes.

“How far along are you?”

If she could have snapped a picture of that exact moment, she could’ve bet it would’ve been hilarious. In that moment, however, it was everything but - in fact, it was as confusing as the weird choice of neon blue tops and velvet pink sweatpants Jenna had on. 

“Jenna, I’m not sure I’m following you there,” she said, confused - but her thought was interrupted by another wave of nausea, and she heaved into the toilet once more. 

“You have to have yourself some rice crackers on hand, hun,” Jenna said, pulling her hair up and away from her mouth. “And ginger tea. Oh, ginger tea absolutely saved my  _ life _ .” 

“For stomach bugs?” Ashe asked, hoarsely. 

“Oh my  _ God _ , Ashe, really?” she said, rolling her eyes as Ashe pushed herself away from the toilet once more. “I’m talking about  _ nausea _ . You know? The thing you feel all the time when you’re pregnant?”

It took her a split second to realize what Jenna had said. When she did, she barked out a nervous laughter, expecting her to admit it was a joke - but she kept her face serious, and Ashe shook her head vigorously. 

“I’m not- I’m- I am  _ not _ ,” she said, adamantly. “I am  _ not _ pregnant, Jenna.”

“Right,” she said, raising her eyebrows. She then bent over to reach the cabinet under the sink, pulling a drawer and a pale pink packet from within. “You know how to take one of those, don’t you?”

Ashe turned the pregnancy test over in her hand and let out a nervous giggle. 

“Why the fuck would you have a pregnancy test on hand?”

“I have five daughters,” Jenna said, dryly. “And I had a feeling. Call it  _ intuition _ , or whatever it is makes you sleep at night. You say you’re not pregnant, alright. Take the test then and prove me wrong.”

She turned around and shut the door closed, leaving Ashe sitting on the bathroom floor with a pregnancy test in hand. 

“I’m not pregnant,” she said to herself while unzipping her pants. “I am  _ not.  _ I am  _ not _ pregnant.”

And yet, her hand shook as she read the instructions and peed on the stick, turning the indicator upside down as she was told and counting the three minutes it needed on her phone timer. She was still shaking when her phone beeped, and felt as if her limbs were an alien part of her body, heavy and pulling her down, when she turned the test face up. 

Pregnant 3+ weeks. 

She blinked, eyeing it once more. It was there, clear as day, but it didn’t seem real - in fact, it seemed as if her soul was leaving the body. There must be a mistake, she thought, blood rushing through her ears and vision tunneling to the small screen indicating the worst case scenario coming true. She couldn’t be pregnant. She couldn’t-

Her legs took her away from the bathroom and into the living room, where Cormac, the triplets, Emmett and Jenna sat. The test was firmly held in her hand, so tightly it bit into the skin of her palms - she eyed Jenna with wide eyes, and she shook her head, tsking. 

“Oh, honey,” she said, standing up. “It’s a positive, isn’t it?” 

It was as if a tsunami crashed down her shores, dragging palm trees and summer houses with the strength of its arrival - nature claiming its rightful space, demanding to be let free. Her knees buckled under her weight and she fell on the floor, clutching the test on her hands while feeling tears spilling down her eyes, twin black paths of ruined makeup staining her cheeks, but she couldn’t care less, because no matter how much she looked, it still said the exact same thing. 

Pregnant. 

3+ weeks. 

“Ashe,” Jenna called, holding her by her shoulders, “Ashe, look at me. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna do fine.” 

Ashe said nothing, answered nothing, thought nothing, hyper aware of her own womb and noticing anything else - and the realization that she was carrying a part of Jesse with her was so strong, she couldn’t help but feel all of which she was repressing at once: anger, hurt, betrayal, disbelief, pain, pain,  _ pain- _

“It’s okay,” Jenna said, “Ashe, it’s okay. Talk to me.”

She couldn’t answer. But something crawled up her spine, closed her throat shut, and when the sob dug its way out of her mouth, it opened the dam to her heart; another one followed suit, and another, and another, until Ashe was wailing on the floor while Jenna held her tightly against her chest, rubbing circles on her back and running her fingers through her hair. 

The test on the floor was unwavering, however, in its final judgement - Elizabeth Ashe was left behind, terribly alone, and carrying the weight of the world inside her spine like an Atlas who dared to let himself believe in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT I WENT THERE THIS IS NOW A MEXICAN TELENOVELA AND I REGRET ABSOLUTELY NOTHING 
> 
> As always thank you so much to Buttons for really bringing this to the table
> 
> See you in two weeks! <3

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, let me know if I fucked up English again, your friendly neighborhood ESL writer will appreciate it
> 
> On a serious note, this fic will be dealing with lots of heavy themes, things that I've been encountering around and I wanted to work it out of my system. I'm pretty much an angst addict but this is going to be by far one of the heaviest works I've typed down, because it's something I'm feeling the need to deal with. Loss, loneliness and extreme situations of grief are found in everyone's lives, and I personally think it's interesting to explore them in a healthy way through writing. If anyone wants to ask me anything about the story or my opinions on the topics I'll deal with here, feel free to drop me a message on http://lazy-universes.tumblr.com. This has been a PSA :)


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